An Hour of Dissatisfaction

Last night my wife and I were talking about my difficulties with Dyvers lately. I was, let's be honest, whining about how the site wasn't loading correctly and how the updates from Google Plus were essentially a joke right now and how it just felt like such a waste to sit here plugging away on the blog when nothing would come from it. I would write and write for hours putting together posts for everything from the Best Reads of the Week to some of the upcoming series for the blog only to find them disappearing from my queue and everything be for naught. 

She sat there patiently listening to me wallow in my disgust for long enough to see me wear myself out on it and then she said, "Do you feel better now?"

"I don't," I said, "I don't like feeling helpless about things that I love. I don't like being locked away from it even if the problem is only a temporary one. It makes me feel so god damned useless."

We sat there for a minute while I listened to Lulu's Back in Town by Thelonious Monk when my son came into the room. He was covered in sweat and his hair was all askew. "Daddy," he said as he looked at me.

"Yes dear?"

"You're talking to loud," he said as he climbed up on the couch with his mother and pulled his blanket over his eyes.

"Sorry, dear."

"Shush," he said from under his blanket, "I'm sleeping."

As he fell back asleep on his mother I walked over to the computer and opened up Fallout 3: New Vegas for the hundredth time since I bought it and started a new run. The game has this way of completely drawing you in and consuming your attention so that you forget everything else going on in the world. It's a good little soul sucker of a game.

by Dave Trampier