I know I say this a lot, but fuck it — I really do want to move to the Wasteland. Radroaches, Deathclaws, Super Mutants, radiation, feral ghouls — all of it seems preferable to the day-to-day bullshit of real life.

I talk about this at length, both here and with my shrink, and it’s not resignation so much as recognition. I know I’m using my time gaming as an escape — but hell, who isn’t trying to escape something? At least my version involves a Pip-Boy and a laser rifle instead of bourbon or cable news.

Sure, there are assholes in the Wasteland just like there are assholes in real life. Behavior doesn’t magically improve when you pick up a controller. Don’t believe me? Look up Gamergate from a few years back. Proof positive that even in a digital apocalypse, some people still find a way to be awful.

Still, most of the time, I can play in a relatively sane and neutral setting — at least until someone or something randomly attacks me.

Barber Therapy and British Television

I had a fun conversation today with my barber. Honestly, besides a bartender, your barber might be the best source of therapy available to mankind. He asked me how long I’d been unable to play Fallout after surgery. I told him: five days. Way too long.

While I’ve been recuperating, I’ve been watching a wormhole’s worth of British transportation television — Heathrow Airport, Paddington Station, train maintenance, you name it. Somewhere between the luggage carousels and the stiff upper lips, I started to notice something:

Even when they’re furious, the British still manage to have manners.

When did we become such a pack of uncivilized assholes? I feel like basic courtesy has gone the way of the dodo.

From Discourse to Tantrums

I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating: discourse is an adult discussion. An argument, when done right, is two adults trying to find the truth.

What we have now — from the top down — are toddler tantrums. Many of us remember what happened if we threw one of those in public as kids. The difference now? We’ve got grown-ass adults flailing on national television and calling it ‘debate.’

Being an adult doesn’t mean you get the privilege of acting like a toddler. Yet that’s where we are — a country full of people kicking and screaming for attention while the rest of us stand by wondering who gave them a juice box and a microphone.

Considering the Exit

For the first time in my life, I’m genuinely considering leaving this country.

This isn’t some celebrity flounce over an election result. This is coming from someone who was born here, served here, and still tried to believe in the ideal of reasonable discourse.

At this point, leaving doesn’t feel like surrender. It feels like self-preservation. Even with my physical issues and the potential loss of benefits, the idea of leaving this nursery full of tantrum-throwing toddlers sounds a hell of a lot better than staying and pretending it’s fine.

At least in the Wasteland, you can spot the monsters.

My dog and my mom always have their shit together. I wish the rest of the world did.