I have it.
Probably due to another unsuccessful attempt to masturbate.
I wish I could think of it in less judgmental way but what can I say, that’s what puts the J in INTJ. We’re a judgy people.
Especially about ourselves, god damn it all to Hades.
But yeah. I blame jacking without cumming for my current state of FFA. It’s so frustrating to be really into the whole masturbation thing and really grooving to all the usual greatest hits from my enormous porn collection and then suddenly just run out of gas.
It’s almost as if I climaxed but it was so weak I barely noticed it.
And I can keep on flogging but there’s no point. I won’t get anywhere and all I would be doing is making myself even more frustrated.
And sore. Very sore. Ouch.
I seem to be extra horny lately. Perhaps it’s the springtime in the air. You know, springtime, when a young man’s fancy turns to all the illegal sex acts he craves.
But can never have. Because oppression.
Still, I hold out hope. Maybe one day I will meet the right group of sexually enlightened folk who will introduce me to their open-minded playmates of all varieties.
Or hell, maybe I will become rich enough to have whatever I want. I am not above paying for what I need.
That wouldn’t be as good as my “intimate enclave” scenario, but I have needs regular society will not let me fulfill and so illegal prostitution has to be a possibility.
And who knows, if I managed to not die for long enough, I might live to see a time when the world gives up its last senseless sexual taboos and learns that consent comes in many forms, not merely the legalistic.
Anyhow. Where was I? Oh yeah, free floating anxiety.
Besides a sexually withholding universe, another reason for my FFA is how tense and depressed and angry I was about losing the clear plastic shield I am suppose to wear over my eye when I sleep.
I was really in a dark, dark mood over it, filled with self-loathing and frustration and rage on a slow simmer.
But luckily, Joe exercised his magic powers and came up with the shield he made for himself when he had his eye surgery, so not only am I covered, he put a strap on his and made it into a neato cool eye patch.
So I am back on track, all thanks to my wonderful roomie Joe, and his amazing powers of not only keeping everything but actually knowing where it is.
Problem solved. But because I am a very broken machine, that doesn’t mean the angry dark chemicals that bad spell summoned are gone from my bloodstream.
If my body was good at scrubbing stress chemicals out of my blood, I probably would be way less depressed. Instead, it seems to hold on to that shit like it’s out of stock.
Comes from having my deep sense of safety shattered by a stranger’s cock when I was four years old, I guess.
On a very deep level, I am chemically incapable of feeling safe.
I was only physically raped once, but psychologically, it’s still happening.
Every day, all the time.
No wonder I’m such a fucking wreck.
More after the break.
On faring spirits
So my latest video game acquisition is a very odd game called Spiritfarer.
I got it because the reviews are spectacular and it was priced within 39 cents of the amount of money I happened to have in my Steam wallet after a bunch of returns, and so I figured, what the heck.
Now here is the official description :
Spiritfarer® is a cozy management game about dying. As ferrymaster to the deceased, build a boat to explore the world, care for your spirit friends, and guide them across mystical seas to finally release them into the afterlife. What will you leave behind?
accidentally or on purpose?
So I thought, kewl, an afterlife management game. I like management games. I figured I would be basically Afterlife Tycoon and I would be building structures and managing things and in general lending my natural flair for efficiency to the post-living community.
But um, no. The game is not like that at all. Nor is it a post-life farming sim like my buddy Maelkoth thought.
Instead, I am going around via a 2D platforming interface and sailing my boat around to follow a pretty linear plotline where I am Stella, the new Spiritfarer, which is the job formerly held by good old Charon, boatman of the river Styx.
Making my journey infinitely more pleasant is my pet, a fluffy sort of cat thing called Daffodil who curls up with my when I sleep, hops into my lap when I sit, follows me wherever I go, and generally charms the socks off of me at every turn,
In fact, the whole game is marvelously charming in a gently whimsical way. And with a very “Furry” sensibility. So far, two of the three spirits I have rescued have turned into anthropomorphic animals once they got on board, and get this – I can HUG them.
And not some perfunctory, robotic hug either. No, amazingly enough, they are the exact same kind of big, enthusiastic, affectionate, loving hugs I would give them if I met them as Fruvous, and words cannot express how much that means to me.
The game “gets” me in a way I never would have expected.
And that is what has kept me playing despite having no freaking clue what I am doing or what I am in for and it being like no game I have ever played before.
The novelty was overwhelming at first (damn, I hate getting old) but I am tuned in now and working diligently to suspend all genre expectations and just experience the game in the spirit of exploration and wonder that is so clearly intended to engender.
Last time I tried to play, it crashed, but hopefully that was a one time thing because I would hate to have to return it at this point.
I’m just getting the hang of it!
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.