Chemical #1. Alcohol. As I begin to recover from my serious, mysterious malady, I find it easier to put on weight. Well, I needn't do that. Therefore I'm cutting out the (infrequent) nightcap. And (far more frequent) beer. Started over a week ago. But, you know, I like beer. It took me a couple years but I've found the stores down here in south Charlotte area that stock the good lagers, pilsners, stouts and Kölsch. So when I'm going without--abnegating, if you will--I am cutting out things I like: the ritual of it, the practiced pour and the light streaming through the amber, the taste and the chill, the soft bite of carbonation, and the rush of relaxation massaging the brain (even though I know this last bit is simply the pleasant, dulling effect of socially palatable poison). Oh, and the kids love hearing the burps that follow.
Chemical #2. Endorphins. The science is not settled on this, but let us assume for the sake of blargument (erm, blogged argument? Sure, whatever) that when we are addicted to things that do not themselves have a chemical component, it is our internal chemistry that dictates the existence and consequences of the addiction. So, yeah, endorphins. Brought on by (you guessed it!) Destiny. I've entered a stretch without it. First there was the Prime Family Vacation, consisting of a five-hour in-airport delay spent keeping the four under-ten primelets alive and entertained, followed by three days of comically outsized Chicago traffic and tourist expenses, then a nice couple of days with distant cousins in Milwaukee (although those days were marred by near-constant work interruptions). So, yeah, no gaming during the vacation. Then back home to D2 beta week, in which heavy workload went hand-in-hand with Wifey Prime's newfound refusal to go to sleep at night to all but preclude playtime. So, two weeks now with nearly no Destiny for ol' Subtimus. And the chemicals are playing havoc with my insides, and my mind-parts (which, yes, are insides also).
But check it: I did get in a few early-morning sessions with the beta. Enough to form a hint of an impression (that being, "Hmm. A less-polished, half-framerate Halo. But it's a start!"). And then, oh glory of glories, today I got in about twenty minutes of unexpected Destiny 1 clash-ing.
And it was good. (Who needs the Main Ingredient when there's the max range/kneepads Panta Rhei?) The pleasure chemicals roared through me and my mood has been level set at "all good, man" since. Also good.
Update on the rumble grind. Even before my prior post, I had finished up the rumble grimoire grind. And almost immediately thereafter, the skirmish grimoire grind. Salvage and doubles remain, and I really don't see there being enough time left in D1 for those, unfortunately. Granted, I've gotten pretty okay at those. They were always my worst modes, and I still have some severely thumbless matches, but I've also started a mini-collection of zero death mercy games in those playlists. But even so, I will not finish those grimoire cards in time. Which means, appropriately enough, I have failed. It means I didn't beat Destiny - at least not according to the strictures I placed on myself. (And no, I've never, not once, picked up a Trials card, so I don't even know if there's a wins-tallying grimoire card for that.)
But let me close with this: returning to D1 after the beta was like coming home from a mixed-bag vacation (looking at you, Chicago). You're back to the everyday, the ordinary, the familiar. But hey, it's familiar. You know where things are supposed to go, and you know the rules. There's not all this pressure to be having fun. And so, sometimes, in spite of yourself, you look around at the everyday, the ordinary, the familiar, and you realize: this--my life, my everyday life--is fun. No alcohol required.
(J/k, give me a damn beer.)
(J/k, give me a damn beer.)
