I’m Terrible at Fun

I should really play a video game one of these days. I’ve got, like, several dozen, but I never touch them.

Almost never, anyway. Shawn and I have a kind of sporadic, Europa Universalis IV campaign we’ve been doing for a few months, but we haven’t gotten back to it in a couple of weeks, and don’t know if we’ll be picking it up again.

Grand Theft Auto 5? Great game! Played about two hours of it a year ago.

Cities: Skylines? Played a lot of that, but the last time was months ago.

FarCry 3? Told it still holds up really well. I wouldn’t know, though, since I think I bailed ten minutes into the thing and that was that.

I tell myself that it’s my machine—that some of these games (GTAV most notably) are just a bit too clunky on my two-year-old rig, and that I’ll get back into them once I’ve replaced it.

“One day! One day, I’ll have a computer capable of running Cities: Sklines without choking to death trying to simulate a traffic system more complicated than two intersections and a bike path, and then I’ll be a gamer again!”

That’s what I tell myself. But in truth? I don’t believe it.

I think I’m just bad at having fun.

Bad at relaxing.

Bad at just chilling out and not worrying about what I have to do next. Even last week, when Alex had her vacation, and the two of us spent most of the time walking or just hanging out together—I couldn’t go more than a few hours without thinking about all the work I wanted to get done, but wasn’t.

Ultimately, I think I’m just bad at being healthy.

Some days, I feel like such shit that when I wake up I wonder how the hell I’m going to get anything done. So on the good days, when I can actually do things, I work. I get my ass in gear and take care of business, checking off tasks as fast as I can, because who knows how I’ll feel the next day.

I need to fix that.

Once in a while, I need to take a good day, and claim it as mine.

A day to just chill.

A day to play games, watch movies, or read something with a sleazy detective and a femme fatale who’ll probably wind up dead by the detective’s own hand.

A day to just be healthy.

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