Game On, Game On

I could play games the rest of my life, and would I be unhappy?  I’m not entirely sure.  On eBay at the moment is a guy (I assume it’s a guy) who is selling his entire 30 year collection of video games, and selling it for $550,000 USD.  And, to top if all off, someone has made a bid for it!  I wonder what sense of relief, what sense of utter refreshment, this man will get when he ships the final game.  (I’m also interested to know what, if anything, he’s keeping.)

I can’t remember who it was, but I remember reading of someone – an author, probably (I think it might be Patrick White, but then again, probably not (no, I doubt it was him)) – who mentioned that as he got older he kept less and less books.  In fact he cleared lots of his books out, or just gave them away, or what have you.  It was something about “lightening the load for the final journey”.  The declutter before the ultimate spring clean.  And there’s something of the apocalyptic in it all, methinks, the yearning for the blank slate to start again – for who in this life does not want to remake themselves?

But is there any difference in spending my life achieving goals in games, as opposed to writing?  Any difference happiness-wise, that is.

Not that I’ll be stopping writing.  It’s too ingrained now for that.

21/whatever in the bookytooky.

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