Life is a Video Game

I have recently become slightly addicted to a silly little video game called Little Big Planet in which cute characters of one's own design run throughout various obstacles to pop blue bubbles and collect "new objects."  I have never been much of a video game player, so my eye/hand coordination needs fine-tuning.  Every time I die, rather than get upset, I simply re-play the level in which I died so that I may utilize any new information I have ascertained, formulating a strategy for my ultimate survival and the completion of said level.

This is a new mindset for me: this notion of practicing again and again until one masters a particular level.  It shouldn't be, though.  I was subjected to various music lessons as a child, the result of which was this understanding that daily practice was necessary in order to progress in skill.  For some reason, that just didn't stick.  Not in the same way as playing Little Big Planet has made it stick.

As ridiculous as it may seem, all my life I have struggled with the perceived constraints of the "real world."  Things such as time and money.  I have been so busy resisting the ills of a capitalist society that I never learned simple things like budgeting and being on time.  I've never devoted time to the practicality of personal economics and never made concrete decisions to "be" one thing or another in terms of a career.  I have never been able to look at Life as a game.  I've never understood that one must master certain skill sets and conquer various obstacles in order to progress to the next level. It's that simple really.

Recently, I had an extended conversation with the manager at Planet Care.  I expressed to him the various discoveries I've made about myself recently.  Some of these discoveries are positive.  Some not.  Under the category of not-so-positive discoveries is my propensity for tardiness.  I am habitually late.  Every day.  Six to ten minutes.  It is a habit of which I have never fully cared to rid myself. I have never understood a reason for punctuality.  It has always seemed an arbitrary imposition on my personal freedom against which I have rebelled.

The manager of Planet Care told me in a matter of fact manner that it is against the rules to be tardy all the time.  And now that I have confessed my propensity for tardiness, I have put myself on his radar.  He then challenged me to be on time for the next thirty days that I work.  "This is not a threat," he said.  He merely wants me to change my habit and has set me the challenge to do so.

Something strange happened when he set this challenge for me.  I imagined myself practicing a certain level in Little Big Planet.  And then, the awareness sank in.  This is a game.  There are certain perimeters within which I must play this game.  Being on time is one of the perimeters.  Just as I must be careful to leap across the burning coals in the Burning Forest level of Little Big Planet, I must be careful to be on time in order to avoid being burned at Planet Care.  In this case, being burned means losing my job.

Hence, I set myself the task of being on time for thirty consecutive work days.  I've succeeded for the first three days of my personal challenge.  While this may not seem like much of a challenge to most folks, it is a significant one to me.  I have Little Big Planet to thank for making it make sense.

The Floater Turd

At some point last Fall I realized that I am a floater turd. It is my mission in life to rise above the shit and not get flushed down the well. This realization constituted the quintessential "Aha Moment." Suddenly, everything made sense. And all the challenges that were weighing down my psyche were put into perspective.

Knowing your mission in life makes everything so much simpler. Whenever I am faced with a dilemma, I ask myself, "What would the floater turd do?"

Whenever I take a poop, I watch the floater turds struggling to remain in the toilet bowl. Secretly, I cheer for them. "Come on little floater turds! You can do it! Rise up, little turds! Swim!"

Some folks might be offended by the metaphor I have created for myself. They may think that by identifying with excrement, I am sending myself a message that I am worth shit. And they will most likely extrapolate all sorts of psychiatric diagnoses from my lighthearted attempt to poke fun at a series of challenges.

But truly, I am using this metaphor as a means of keeping things in perspective. No worry, no fear, nothing that I might fret about endlessly matters a damn in the larger scheme of things. I must remain buoyant in the face of increasing heaviness. I must float above all the bullshit that life tosses at me. This is a noble mission. The floater turd is simply a convenient analogy for my plight on this planet.

Ever since the dawning of my realization, I have known that I must write a song about the floater turd. And tonight, after grappling with a grievous line of questioning, I decided it was time to sit down and do it. The chorus goes like this:

I am a floater turd
I am a master of the absurd
You think you've seen the last of my days
But you cannot flush me away
No you cannot flush me away

My boyfriend, Danny, came up with the chords to accompany the melody. So far, it is a kick-ass little song. It will be premiered at the Marijuana Wolf show on June 26.

I am opening for Marijuana Wolf. It's funny how a life filled with such ridiculous challenges just gets better and better.