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Raised by Wolves

Gaki: writing myself Real

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Hello?  Navi?

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Hi, LJ-land.  Damn, it's been a minute.  How you been?

I been keeping up, definitely read you guys every day, and I do appreciate that you keep posting, those of you that do.  (For those that don't -- c'mon!  I barely get to see you lot out there in meatworld, so drop something, even if it's just a stupid link or a pic.)

Haven't hit the keyboard much myself lately, but it's just inertia.  Rude anti-momentum.  Let me buck the turn of the world for a minute, then, and see if I can't get back up to speed. 

I'm still feeding a good solid chunk of my wetware to FFXII.  The game clock is definitely in triple-digits, and I'm probably only about half done.  What can I say?  I'm an unabashed fan of the series; from start to finish, they have always brought forth systems that I enjoy figuring out, and characters that make me curious to learn more about them.  (For the most part.  And excluding IX, there was really nothing in that one for me.) 

The other thing is, of course, work. Being a professional is weird.  Maybe I'll tell you a little bit about what my day is like, soon.  For now, it's enough to mention that I'd been doing 10-12 hour days for a couple of months solid, maybe longer than that even, and on a schedule like that, you don't even want to look at another keyboard and monitor when you get home.  As of this summer, I will offically have Associate Producer credit on two published titles in the world, and Additional Designer credit on one.  I've gotten kudos on a number of contributions to pitch ideas and proposals floating around the office; it feels good.  It's scary to me that any job should require so much of my drive and dedication.  I never, ever wanted to be one of those people who only has work to talk about, but I'm drifting perilously close to that being the case.  Being that it's the entertainment industry, that's not so terrible of a burden -- but still.  It's not a situation I ever saw myself in, and I still treat my days as though they were a dream from which I might wake at any moment, back to my natural destiny of drifting from dead-end temp job to temp job, and swilling 40's on the stoop until I pass out every night. 

It's weird, but I miss those days, too.  Where did all my poets and ravers go, my hippies and goffs and pseudo-intellectual hipsters?  The punks and freaks and losers I couldn't kick off of my couch for the life of me, unless it was to share the space.  (I've still got my nerds and geeks, at least, 'cause I know where they all work now.  =P  )  I miss waking up and knowing my only mission for the day was a blunt, a grocery store run, and whatever trouble I could get into on the way.  I miss scribbling rhymes at 6:30 on a Monday evening, trying to get something decent from page to brain, so I'd have something to impress the coffee shop crowd with, something to make them light up, or freak out.  I miss taking care of my little drunken angels, making sure no one had gotten kidnapped by some thug at the club, or passed out on their face in the kitchen, or guarding them from the night terrors when they'd been awake for too long and eaten too little.  There is a hollow between my shoulders from the crosses I used to bear.  In the process of learning to stand on my own, I have cut away a lot of the ties that held me down.  But now when I fight the world's turning, I come adrift much more easily. 

Snow does fall in California.  It falls in the mountains, and the high desert.  It falls in the north country.  And it falls on the past, blanketing our yesterdays in frost.  You go wandering too far in them, you'll just keep going, until the cold turns to warmth, and walking turns to kneeling, and the heaviness turns to gentle, drifting absence.  In Cally, yesterday is a mirage.  They are always building tomorrows, building their tomorrows over your tomorrows, racing to make it all happen today, only to be forgotten faster.

I'm 31 on Sunday, and clearly in a maudlin mood.  Maybe I can sneak this one through without anybody noticing.  ;)  Cheers.