One thing I’m starting to suspect about myself is that behind my goody-two-shoes exterior is a competitive obsessive biyatch just lying dormant. I have actually analyzed the whole thing, and I suspect that much of my peaches and cream persona is actually a survival mechanism and not just a selfless desire for world peace. I have no real way of proving this because as it happens, I’m too close to the subject matter (me) and would never see it objectively. But once in a while, something comes along and strengthens my suspicion.
Like Plants vs. Zombies.
You know, I know, all my friends know, I hate Zombies. They are the foulest monsters ever imagined by the human imagination. I will take on hundred-headed hydrae and overlarge half-rats, half-mange creatures but God spare me from Zombies. Lately though, the world is overrun with a sudden interest and fascination for the unholy Re-animated. Movies, TV Shows, Books and Games all have different versions of these flesh eating, brain-feasting fiends. And it looks like it’ll be around for a while, looks like for a whole lifetime and beyond (I shudder at the thought). SO I figured, I might as well zap the phobia out by intense desensitization techniques. Ergo, watching Zombieland thrice (besides it gives good tips on how to survive a zombie-attack). Reading Pride, Prejudice and Zombies. And finally, playing Plants vs. Zombies (PVZ).
Playing PVZ is my inner biyatch’s sanctimonious playground. I have actual control over what kills ‘em or what kills me. It’s survival of the fittest, and I have a beating heart and brains in my head (not my stomach) so I like to think that’s me. Harmless, right? Except the effing zombies keep eating my brains! Arrrgh!
Nobody, nobody gets the best of me, (that’s probably not true but I can’t stand knowing it) and now, they’re everywhere. My finger itches when I’m not clicking on the mouse whacking a zombie. When I sleep, I even dream of planting sunflowers so I can harvest them effing sun and buy the firepower I need to kill those Gargantors. I even went as far as asking my best friend (who is now at 104 flags, gumdummit) to set up the necessary combination to survive the first 50 flags of Survival Endless (it took so much out of me knowing I could not survive beyond level 15 on my own). I have to kill ‘em zombies, and I have to kill ‘em all.
So yes, it’s fairly obvious. When allowed free rein, I am obsessive and addictive and warfreak-ish, and the world is lucky that my sub-conscious has installed self-preservation fail-stop mechanisms to deter me from blowing up random things and the undead. It is obvious now that my yellow-mellow-silly-dilly self chooses to dissociate from things that could get me all het up because when rankled I have a tendency to plant sunflowers and blast the offending party to kingdome come.
God forbid I get my drivers license (in the real world) because I absolutely hate the thought of sharing a cell with Jason Ivler.