So I was playing God Of War (which is a serious contender for the best video game ever) on my PS2 earlier today and getting pissed off because the final fight is fucking nearly impossible when you're playing on God Mode.  The only reason I wanted to beat the stupid game on God Mode was to unlock the two secret videos you get after doing so.

Having read the above, it'd be easy to assume that I was either 12, or a virgin.  Happily, neither are true.  On the other hand, I'm sadly less than a week from turning 37 and there I was this morning playing a fucking video game on a console I spent nearly two hundred dollars on.  The list of things I could have been doing that would have been a better use of my time is nearly endless.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

So I was sitting there, playing that goddamn game and screaming at the stupid TV because for what was very likely the hundredth time.  I had been defeated by the fucking Kratos Clones.  And you can't go on to kill fucking Ares until you've killed all the Kratos Clones, preventing them from killing your family.  And for some reason that already doesn't make any sense to me, that shit actually mattered.  Fucking ridiculous.  So anyway, while screaming something clever like, "Fuck you goddamn motherfucker!" at the TV, I suddenly felt my life slowly draining out of me.  Almost as though I'd slashed my wrists and could feel my blood slowly leave my body.  And I realized the reason I was feeling all this was because my life was, in fact, draining right the fuck out of me.  And then I flashed forward a bit and saw myself at the end of my life.  And I wasn't sure if I was an accomplished man or not, but the one thing I knew was true was that I hadn't done nearly as many things as I'd wanted to, and the reason for that was because I'd instead spent my time achieving 100% completion on Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.  Three times.  Fucking.  Loser.

And then I started laughing, realizing how much of my life I'd already cheated myself out of.  Or maybe not.  I suppose I could have just wasted all that time doing something else.  But I can't help thinking that anything else still would have been better.  I could have read a shit ton of books with the time I've spent playing video games.  Or done more writing.  Or just jerked off a whole lot.  All of those would net me with something other than time lost.  Being the best GTA player in my apartment complex has benefited me exactly dick.

So I got up, unplugged my PS2 console, took it outside and threw it at the ground as hard as I could, smashing it to pieces.

I suppose I could have just sold it on eBay.  Or given it to one of my friends.  But, there just wouldn't have been the cathartic release if I'd done that.  On top of which I'd be enabling someone else to waste their life, and that's not right.

So, did I overreact?  Of course I fucking did.  Who the hell destroys a PS2 because they don't want to play video games anymore?  But, that's me.  No one ever has or ever will accuse me subtlety.  Could I have kept the PS2 and only played video games once in a while?  Nope.  If I could pull that off, I'd still be a smoker.  Sadly, I'm one of those all or nothing people.  I had to quit smoking because I was faced with the choice of being healthy or smoking a bare minimum of a pack a day and coughing up gremlins into the sink every morning for the rest of my life.  I had to quit gambling because once I started I had to keep going until I was out of money.  The only thing I don't have trouble doing in moderation is drinking, which I'm going to attribute to growing up with an alcoholic father.  Oh, and exercise.  I seem to be able to do that in moderation.  Extreme moderation you might say.  Maybe now that I'm not playing video games, I'll actually get off my ass and work out once in a while.  Whatever I wind up doing you'll be able to say one thing about me:  I never beat God Of War on God Mode.  And I'm okay with that.