I've been cultivating this hangover for a while now. Everything seems to be happening at a great distance. My eyes are blurry, attempts to focus resulting in the sensation of screwdrivers being twisted into my retinas. When I move my head I can feel my brain sloshing against the inside of my skull. It is in this state, that I begin this blog:
I found somewhere to live, in North London. It's a flat, on an estate, shared with a couple of other random gentlemen. A single bed is the only issue I have with the room, especially after the wonderful king-size that I was rocking at University. I could probably upgrade to a double here, though I'm unsure if I would be able to squeeze my computer into the room afterwards. I'm still playing furniture tetris, trying to figure out the best arrangement. Standard moving-in nonsense.
The result of having a stable living environment means I have been able to bring up all my shit to London. Shit like; my Xbox, my personal computer, and my collection of Gears Of War figures. The essentials. After a month of roughing it on a sofa in Brixton, the level of comfort which I am currently experiencing is... well... it's just lovely.
The important part of this blog is that I bought a PS3.
It was supposed to arrive on the day Uncharted 3 was released, but due to the stupid fucking company messing up the billing address it has been delayed. It's now Saturday and I'm still not playing Uncharted, which means I probably won't be able to play until next weekend. This makes me very angry. The experience of having to shuffle around my ever-complicated schedule is both new and unwelcome. Having time to play videogames is something I have never really had to worry about, and the removal of that instant gratification is bizarre and frustrating. However, in the absence of an axiomatic availability, the value of any time at all in which I can murder a virtual menagerie of beings becomes exponentially higher.
I just bought Battlefield 3. I'm going to install it and play it. I'm also probably going to write a blog bitching about Origin, and Battlelog, because they are both awkward, clunky, and unattractive. Like your mother. However, in order to play Battlefield 3 I am still willing to have sex with her. If you know what I mean.