Addiction

Do you know the game Snood?

I can't figure out why this game is so addictive. Is it the weird faces and their peculiar names? Jake, Zod, Mildred, Sunny, Midoribe, Geji, and Spike - they grind their teeth, stick out their tongues, and make faces that push your button just a little.

Could it be the mischievous satisfaction of playing it for free till the limited rounds are used up? The vicious poems at the end of each level and the "pleeease" that is sung by a chorus of snoods surely do make you feel guilty, though there still will not be payments - ever. Apology to Dave Dobson - the creator of Snood!

Whatever it is, I find myself spending hours and hours on the game in trying to break my own record. The curiosity of what the highest score that ever existed aggravates my obsession.

So I dragged it into "trash" - numerous times, since it somehow always got dragged Out of "trash". Then I decided to delete it permanently.

The latest news is that, Snood is "re-born" once again on my computer - it's material for this blog entry! On a second thought, did I choose to write about Snood only because it was a perfect excuse for me to download it again?

"Hello everyone, I am a snood-addict..."

Dream Sequence 1

There she was, more beautiful than I feared her to be, standing closely by your side and quietly completed you. I wanted to be her so badly so that you would look into my eyes with the same warmness and tenderness. What had once belonged to me was now gone and I could only watch it with envy from far. The truth was, she was perfect. Even though I could not gather enough courage to tell you, but I had told myself so over and over in my head. And I finally understood: you and her belonged together.

So I left the scene alone. Yet the dream went on: you came to me in tears and you said that you were sorry. Watching you cry only hurt me more. I put my arms around you, wanting to cry but unable to shed any tear, wanting to speak but nothing sounded. I was exhausted and consumed. There was nothing left of me except a wounded heart and an aching soul.

Postlude to A History of Violence

What a hypocrite that you are! You have talked and talked about your dislikes, yet turning around to praise highly of what you hated. Don't you see, you are becoming one of those people while I am cherishing you as a dear friend.

Yes, I have always treated you with much care despite all of your mishaps toward me. You are blind, for you speak much of friendship though never once have looked around you. I could care for you more and I have always wanted to care for you more. Why wouldn't you let me enter your world and allow me to ease your pain?

You never understood me, never even tried to. But why would you? I should curse myself for always quietly being there and letting you know that you could count on me no matter what happens. This vulnerability is the ultimate stupidity on my behalf. How naive I am as I offer you everything that I can give, but expect only your honesty in return. Yet you still manage to fail this smallest request.

Please do not speak of your hurtful experiences, for you have also hurt others.