Yesterday I wrote about how not all anniversaries are happy ones. That’s not an easy admission, but it’s true: some days are better left in the past, even if they come knocking in the present.

This time of year, sleep is elusive. I toss and turn, trying to catch even a few minutes of rest. Nightmares and terrors play on an endless loop, like a film I can’t walk out of. Last night was no exception, so I did what I often do—I slipped back into the wasteland after dark. Almost sounds like a bad TV show, doesn’t it?

Some folks question my gaming time. Fair enough—it’s pretty excessive. But for me, it’s distraction, escape, and sometimes survival. Appalachia at night is a place where I can breathe when the real world feels too heavy. My mom used to joke that her train of thought left her at the station; post-stroke, I get that more than ever. One moment everything’s working—memory, motor skills, focus—and the next it’s gone, just like that. Living this way is, as Spock would say, “fascinating.”

When I play with friends, the wasteland becomes more than pixels—it’s community. Other nights I solo, sometimes streaming on Twitch so I can interact with whoever drops by. Bots show up, of course, spamming fake promises of “more views” and “click here.” It’s absurd, but I laugh.

Last night a regular asked about maximizing streams. We talked about the lengths people go—fake followers, inflated numbers, manufactured clout. I get the desire to “make it,” but it reminded me that success is too often measured by follower counts. I tried entrepreneurship once. Some months I barely paid the bills; most months I didn’t. It taught me reality hits hard when passion meets logistics.

That conversation got me asking why I even blog or stream at all. The truth? I don’t see either as popularity contests. I don’t expect to go viral. I don’t even want to. This blog and my Twitch feed are outlets—ways to yell into the void, sort my thoughts, and share what I can. If a handful of people read or watch, good. If not, I’m still here, still writing, still playing.

Yes, I have an ego. A little pat on the back feels good. But I don’t need a million followers to feel seen. I learned the hard way that trying to run everything alone—branding, marketing, managing—can overwhelm you fast. I’ll leave the “always on” hustle to the people who want it.

Dreaming is valuable, but sometimes a dream is just that—a dream. That doesn’t mean you failed; it means you tried. Like my friend who thought she wanted to be a nurse until she saw blood for the first time—some dreams don’t fit, and that’s okay.

For me? I’ll keep writing. I’ll keep streaming. I’ll keep wandering Appalachia at night. And I’ll always succeed at the one thing that matters most: loving my dogs and my mom.