time for a change

Am I reverting? I don't know. I do know that I used to use this space distinctly as my catharsis-space - all of the thoughts I couldn't process on my own in my head were poured out here. Gripes, grouses, and the fleeting bursts of joy. All of them put here into this little corner of the internet. I've always unloaded my thoughts somewhere on the internet and I don't know really why that is. It's not that I wanted anyone to read it. It just felt easier than writing. Writing to a blank document is less daunting when you know that it's not really permanent, I suppose. Even though some of these thoughts in this online journal are over a decade old. Permanent enough.

I don't know what will happen one day, when all of our technology has changed. Will all of these thoughts be lost? Were they ever meant to be kept? I spent so many years fearing that I would forget things that mattered - things that no one else even saw. Forgetting the little coincidences and alignments, the shapes of certain ripples in a puddle as someone stepped across them. Thanks to my crazy younger self I remember hexagon tiles in Riverside Park and the touch of my old concrete windowsill. The sounds of pigeons huddling and cooing. Tastes and scents and adventures. Thoughts about seagulls. I captured those things either here or elsewhere, and I remember them still.

But I haven't written here, not extensively about the feeling of living, in awhile. Partly that's because I haven't felt like I've been living. I have been (still am) depressed and I cannot deny that it's made me much less of a functional person than I was six years ago. Another part has been because I gave the link to people who knew me in real life - people who were close friends, but with whom I've lost connection. Having my private thoughts open to people I no longer trust implicitly makes me anxious. And to top it off I'm still unemployed after over a year of leaving school, mired in depression and self-hatred and struggling to even be positive about anything in my life. So I stopped writing anything of note here, and in doing so stopped writing almost entirely. But I've missed it, and I must write again without feeling like I will be judged or that my secrets will be bared. And mainly, I feel the need to keep my thoughts in check, in track, and this blog and my other one have been the best resources I had over the years to identify my patterns of depression.

So I have changed the address of the blog and set it to private. It is a strange feeling to be free.

I was thinking about AR and how sad it is that it's coming to an end. The game itself may linger on for another few years, but I think my role there is done, if not overdone by several years. I've moved from thinking of it as a passion project and something I was excited to work on to something that is just a chore, a responsibility. I tried to keep myself entertained by branching into different areas of the game, to keep learning. But it hasn't been a game for me for many years. My last mortal character was probably around 2006-2008. I think when it's come to a point where the creators are no longer playing the game they are creating, because they no longer enjoy the game, they shouldn't hang on any longer. And truth be told I lost that connection when I was promoted to a full imm - after suddenly seeing everything behind the scenes, all the mystique was gone. I knew the IP addresses for every character. I knew the patterns of characters that some players would create. I didn't see the game as a game anymore but as a series of carefully (or in some cases, carelessly) constructed mechanics. It was 20 years of labors of love of different people I've never met - most of whom moved on before I even signed up. My heart, too, has gone from it. I didn't think about these things when I was a young naive player who just wanted to contribute in some more permanent way to a game I loved. I don't even remember why I originally applied, not exactly. Maybe someone suggested I ought to, or maybe I came up with the idea on my own. Maybe it was Clifton.

I still miss that feeling of mystery, excitement, anticipation. What new adventure would I have today? What people would I meet, what conversations, what crazy stories would I weave? I still remember the feeling of seeing that familiar combination of colors, green and blue:

[HERALD] Odile the Crier: 'Farewell Joikala, may the winds guide you to a swift return.'

I still remember the fondness of the old Herald cabal grounds, the pond at the center where Torkalen gave me my tests. That damn sofa. All the old books we used to create by hand, painstakingly typing and error-checking as if we were using typewriters, breath held and typing furiously in case of an internet disconnection or a storm (game reboot) which would destroy minutes or hours of hard work. I remember when there were many of us eager to fill the roles of chroniclers and lore keepers and inject entertainment and creativity into a land filled with chaos, rather than lone historians thanklessly documenting all of AR's waning history. I miss that feeling of community, and so I try to keep creating it, try to keep it alive, but it's gone...

I wonder what will happen when I leave for good. I suppose it will still continue for awhile. Someone will take my place - Vevier, if she hasn't gotten too fed up with it herself. Maybe Ceridwel will take over. He's learned a lot and can handle it as long as Dav and Olyn are still there. Maybe one day we'll all meet someplace and reminisce about the good old days over a beer and I'll see their faces and hear their voices for the first time. Or maybe I'll just disappear and be forgotten.

It's strange to realize that I'm fine with that.

I can't imagine how many words I've sent into space.