Nightmare Mode...I Am Your Master

"Victory is mine. Victory is mine. Great day in the morning, people. Victory is mine!"
(Josh Lyman, The West Wing, S1 Ep2)

I have BEATEN the infamous Nightmare Mode of PS1 game, Parasite Eve 2. Yes, I have. Victory is, indeed, mine. I am truly awesome.

For many years - actually, three - it was my strongly held belief that I would never be able to complete this most arduous endeavour. I did not believe that I possessed the required skill and commitment to achieve such glorious excellence. I documented my Nightmare Mode ineptitude in an earlier post, and since that time, I have lived with the vanquished understanding that winning Nightmare Mode was a life experience that would never be mine. Until now, because now it IS my life experience; mine, mine, mine! And so I must, again, quote from fellow glory-seeker, Josh Lyman (S1, Ep2):

"I drink from the keg of glory, Donna. Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in the land."

"Someone give me a river to forge, a serpent to slay."

And I did slay. There was much slaying. For the last 3 months, I have devoted myself to unbridled slayage. My mantra has been: slay, slay, slay! I slayed that damn Knight Golem in the Akropolis Tower. I slayed those floppy, marionette Brain Stingers (and their giant master, the Puppet Stinger). I slayed all the lackadaisical Mossbacks (who always seem kind of relieved when they die). I slayed those adorable jelly-blobs. I killed the absolute crap out of those really annoying Black Beetles. I slayed/exploded all the mutant, exploding babies. I kept slaying, up until, and including, my final battle with Eve. And Eve threw everything at me. Yes, she did. All her deadly, and quite noisy, spells; her crazy screen-wobble chant, her full body torpedoes, her multicoloured balls of pain, and finally, her slap-happy clones (pro-tip: kill the clones before they trap you in a 'slap-lock' - this is pretty much checkmate on Nightmare Mode). I faced everything Parasite Eve 2 - Nightmare Mode - could attack me with, and I won!!!

I am now a victorious person. An achiever. I can walk among society with a champion's demeanour. I can regale ordinary citizens with tales of my video game heroism. Nothing can stop me! Though, okay, sure, there is that whole "pride comes before a fall" business to consider, and I am feeling very prideful right now. So, I will enjoy and celebrate my greatness for as long as I can before I am devastatingly conquered by my next challenge and plunged into rabid ungreatness.

Obligatory Snuggly Winter Photo

Ms Willow sleeping in Dad's old jumper:

 

Internal Structure

Would it be wiser to remain with this solitude status quo? Or does it need to change? Would I be a better person if I were 'involved' with someone? Do I need to be a better person? Maybe I'm already the right amount of better? Perhaps there is no way that a human being could possibly be more better than I am right now! Would I be happier? Would non-solitude fill my internal empty places? Doesn't everyone have varying degrees of internal empty places, solitude or non? My internal empty places seem to be getting smaller, less porous, more manageable, as I get older (though my bones and cartilage are getting more porous and less manageable - external structure is letting me down, as I get older).

What drives the impetus to pursue 'involved' interaction with another person? Is it

• desire for connection
• to alleviate loneliness (existential or everyday)
• to follow social convention/expectation
• to make babies
• lust
• intrigue
• a manifestation of narcissism
• security
• solace
• madness

Do we really need these things? Aren't food/water/shelter/oxygen/dvds enough for us?? (Or should that be: isn't food/water/shelter/oxygen/dvds enough for us??).

But what if it's just one another person, in particular, challenging the solitude status quo; someone who seems to emanate solace, seduces with their intrigue, inspires lust. What if it's someone who was encountered unexpectedly, via ordinary daily happenings; not someone found through semi-random, though deliberate, driftnet fishing, but someone who appeared, unbidden, and now you keep thinking about them and want to know all about them and want to interact with them but can't find an appropriate means to do this and are worried that they won't want to interact with you anyway! (And they're probably married, even though they don't wear a wedding ring). And then it gets so bad that you have to write a semi-stream-of-consciousness blog post about it to stop yourself from getting into a desperate state of mind and doing something, well, desperate, and just making everything worse. (And it's been going on for awhile; exhibit A).

It might be time for another Buffy-a-thon, even though I just finished a Buffy-a-thon.

As You Wish, My Master.

Last night Ms Willow Pussycat jumped on top of the answering machine and erased the greeting message. I was surprised, as I had thought she was okay with the message, given that I'd included her in the message and put her name before my name, ie:

"You've reached WILLOW...and Nicole's answering machine. Please leave a message."

I now realize my unforgivable, and extremely egregious, foolishness. I have re-recorded a new message, one which better reflects the truth:

"You have reached the answering machine of the great and powerful WILLOW...and her imbecile servant, Nicole. Do not deign to leave a message unless you are someone of immense significance. Now leave me to my nap."

Unreliable Narrator

There is a small cafe, located along a dark alleyway, which itself is located off a one-way laneway. The laneway can only be reached by pedestrian access due to an enormous crater - the result of an enormous meteorite - located in the middle of the adjoining main road. Inside the small cafe is a barista of indeterminate species who serves never-ending lattes and plates of cherry coconut slice. Also inside this cafe is a shape-shifting dangerous goods storage cabinet where I keep most of my truths. I rarely visit this cafe, despite my fondness for never-ending lattes and cherry coconut slice. And when I do visit, I tend to sit not entirely in one of the chairs closest to the door. I steer well clear of the shape-shifting dangerous goods storage cabinet and only ever look at it with peripheral vision; I'm not sure how wise it is to get too close to truths kept in shape-shifting cabinets.

It has taken many years for me to mutate into a being with whom I can be comfortable spending time. It's a mostly amicable relationship, and we have a lot in common; we have the same values, we like the same food, we write the same blog, we have the same relatives, we share the same body. But, occasionally, I wouldn't mind some time apart. I don't want to cut ties completely, but a little more space, and maybe a little less intimacy and co-dependency, might be beneficial.

Sometimes I like to believe that I am flawless or that I have superpowers or that I don't exist.

Some years ago, during a break in transmission, I stopped breathing and became a suspended animation. I thought this would kill me but, conversely, it made me more alive. Due to this transition, I am now able to slow time.

Lady Parts Alliteration

Wayward Womb.
Ostentatious Ovary.
Complicit Clitoris.
Frantic Fallopian.
Bombastic Breast.
Lascivious Labia.
Cantankerous Cervix.

Fragments of Conversations as Spoken by 2 Obnoxious People in a Bad Relationship

[Sub-Heading: Listening to the couple next door yelling at each other - extended edition]

Sometimes their conversations are mundane. Sometimes their conversations are abusive. Sometimes their conversations betray painful truths about the fragile vulnerability of human interactions. Frequently their conversations are loud (such that I can often hear them through the shared wall). Occasionally their conversations take place in our shared driveway (making it even easier for me to eavesdrop on them). One time it sounded like things were escalating to a dangerous place and I considered ringing the police. They are both in their early 30s and there are some difficult decisions ahead for them. In the meantime, they continue shouting at each other:

(NB: the order of fragments is mostly random; some fragments are from the same conversation; some fragments are direct quotes, some fragments are paraphrased; I've grouped fragments into sections of five, with each section being either her or him only; I've tried to balance more toxic fragments with less toxic ones; capital letters indicate screaming rather than yelling)

her: you're acting like a 5 year old
her: it's never going to happen!
her: watch yourself!
her: I'M NOT ACTING LIKE A BABY!!!
her: what about the future?

him: you're fucking nuts!
him: I don't know what I want
him: you say you have revealing dreams about me
him: FUCK OFF!!!
him: I love you

her: unfuckingbelievable!
her: this is as good as it gets!
her: when are we having a baby???
her: I'm your chauffeur
her: GET AWAY FROM ME!!!

him: you keep talking about your biological clock
him: I would never cheat on a woman
him: YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!
him: I want to have a baby
him: how many cigarettes have you had?

her: I love you
her: this isn't 5 years ago
her: I wouldn't not want you to be happy
her: you're following 900 women on instagram
her: FUCK OFF!!!

him: I'm happy in this job
him: SHUT UP!!!
him: I want the mother of my baby to be healthy
him: how many steps have you done today?
him: it was just for fun, it doesn't mean anything

her: why are we still fighting about this?
her: there better not be any teenagers
her: stop touching me!
her: I'm just trying to make suggestions to help you
her: I'm going to talk about this

him: today, I'm not your boyfriend
him: I know how to wash dishes!
him: I will kill your cat
him: what about my happiness?
him: I don't want to talk about this