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Archive for May, 2012

Ted #3

Thursday, May 24th, 2012

Ted’s just sort of standing around not doing much, so I promise him a wish, “Learn writing skill”, I figure that’s kind of important to someone aspiring to be a professional author (but not essential for all of us, amirite!?). I was hoping this would spur him on to take a little initiative, but he didn’t do anything. His Energy bar is quite low and it’s 2am, but he hasn’t taken himself off to bed yet. I figured I’d let him go in his own time. Perhaps he has something he’d rather do right now. He stood in the corner of his room and laughed while thinking about the house. For god’s sake, Ted.

5am. Energy bar is critically low. He still doesn’t go to bed. By 7am his plumbob is bright red and he’s angry about being awake — yet the thought hasn’t occurred to him to go bed. His Hunger bar is low now too, and his Bladder is close to needing immediate emptying. He thinks about a park bench and laughs.

Not wanting him to wet himself, I finally instruct him to use the toilet. Can’t believe I have to do that. A little miffed, I send him to bed at 9am, where he dreamt mainly of food, and getting buff. He wakes up at 7pm, starving. Great Ted. You’re nocturnal now. That’ll be wonderful for the job search.

1am rolls around and it’s clear he’s not going to the fridge to get dinner himself. He’s mad as hell he’s that hungry. He’s hangry. He keeps pointing to his mouth in exasperation and yelling. I make him go get cereal. I’m wishing there was some sort of electrified cattle-prod to poke him with at this point. Do something for yourself, you lazy bastard. Why do you need to be instructed on everything?

As he’s eating, the postie leaves some bills in his letterbox, but she dumps them on the ground in a huff due to the letterbox being full already. Whoops, forgot about bills. I send Ted outside after he’s eaten to pay them and get them out of the way. 2 x §83 gone. The bank account at 2:30am stands at §729. Need a job. The usual suspects plus one interesting option – Journalism Career – Paperboy. §38 p/h. Journalism could be a step in the right direction? At least it’s writing. Beats cleaning toilets. But with §729 left in the bank, things aren’t desperate enough to have to settle for anything other than fiction writing. Yet. Ted’s not buoyed by this small ray of hope. His social bar is really low. He can’t call anyone to chat, it’s 3am. He’s lonely.

At 3:30am, his energy bar is just a little over half, so I figure it would be a good time to get some rest to try and reset that nocturnal sleep rhythm. He laughed, almost as if he was relieved. He crept into bed and dreamt of something really strange, this was the picture:

When he was hungry and fell asleep, he dreamt mainly of food. His Social bar is low, what is this dream? Is it a fight between the happy self and the angry self? Green representing the happy plumbob and orange the desolate plumbob? Perhaps it represents someone turning their back on him — social exile. Either way that’s pretty heavy… he’s not in a good way.

He woke up at 8.15am, a respectable hour to get up instead of being all nocturnal. Social still critical, Bladder critical, Hygiene critical. Oh Ted. I decide not to instruct him on anything, I worry he’s getting too dependent on me. Why doesn’t he do things himself?

I refuse to be an enabler right as the countdown begins to the full loss of bladder control. If he doesn’t take himself to the toilet in the next 4 minutes, he’s going to wet himself right there in the corner of his bedroom. Think of the carpet, Ted. Engage autonomy, Ted! TED GO TO THE TOILET BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE!

Amy #2

Saturday, May 19th, 2012

At 6am Amy woke to the delightful sounds of birds chirping and car doors closing as people began their commute to work for the day. Being the neat freak she is, she diligently made her bed and shuffled into the kitchen to make some breakfast.

Toast and jam. Awesome.

7:20am rolls around and Amy feels like watching the tewbs a bit. In her jim jams. Because she’s a grown up and can do whatever the hell she likes! Yeah!

What? Bills in the letterbox at 8:20am?! Ugh! Being a grown up isn’t all jim jams and toast and jam.

At 10am Amy turned the TV off and did some tidying up. She recycled yesterdays paper, and laughed at the bin. Crazy bins. What even are they?!

11:45 sees Amy’s fervent return to the window. I’m starting to worry about that. It’s odd. She stares out the window until 2:30pm. That’s a really long time to be staring out a window. What is she looking at? Is she pining for the outside world? Maybe she should go for a walk later. Just for the air and to check out the neighbourhood. Why haven’t any neighbours come to visit?

Even though her hygiene bar is still over half full Amy decides to jump in the shower. She was far from woofy, but I think it was just an excuse to get out of her PJs. She sang in the shower in Simlish. Sounded like she was having a fantastic time. I wish I could understand the lyrics. It sounded a bit like James Brown. She gives good funk.

Refreshed and ready to face the day, she’s plucked up the courage to pay the bills that arrived that morning – a rattling reminder that funds are limited. Better pay the bills then get right onto the job search. Bills come to §84, leaving §656 in the bank account. Should be enough to live off until a job comes along. Staring at the letterbox puts her in a great mood. Of course it does…

Job search today seems equally fruitless:
Music career, a fan. §21 p/h.
Culinary career, Kitchen Scullion. §25 p/h.
Military career, Latrine Cleaner. §40 p/h.

40 Simoleans an hour!? God that’s tempting. But there’ll be no time for writing. In a Military career all spare time would be spent researching and keeping in shape, surely? Not that desperate yet. There’s enough in the bank to wait it out. For now.

Back inside, Amy turns the TV on for a few hours before deciding on some dinner. These bills and job searches and grownup responsibilities are getting too heavy. She decides to have ice cream for dinner. Take that, childhood! Throwing out the empty tub fills the bin inside, so she decides to take the rubbish out to her upright non-molested garbage bin. In true Amy style, staring at the bin makes her happy.

To bed at 11pm, per chance to dream of babies, ghosts, death, gravestones, wedding cake, and dragons. Fuck yeah, dragons.

Amy #1

Friday, May 18th, 2012

Meet Amy Walker. She’s rad. A healthy young adult, she’s Friendly, has a Good Sense of Humour, is Neat, a Hopeless Romantic, and just happens to be a Genius to boot. Crikey! She aspires to be a Professional Author, and adores Ratatouille, indie music, and the colour green. Being a Taurean, she’s all about the… stuff Taureans dig.

She recently parlayed a government handout of §16,500 into her very first home, “The Monotone” of 72 Waterlily Lane. She moved into this modest house on Sunday morning, at 8am.

After wandering around her new surroundings, she stopped a while to admire the scenery from the window.

Then another.

Cora the papergirl dropped the newspaper on the front porch, and Amy went out to greet her. Cora thought Amy was okay. They talked for a bit about the neighbourhood, and hamburgers. Cora LOVES hamburgers. They decided to be friends, despite the age gap. Hamburgers bring people together.

Amy waved goodbye to her new friend and took the paper inside before walking over to have another look out the window. After an hour, she switches to the adjacent window. Amy starts laughing. It’s 11:30am. +25 to her mood, she’s entertained. I feel a little awkward. I’m letting a genius — a brilliant mind — get her kicks from looking outside. There’s nothing even happening out there.

By 4pm I buy her a TV to appease my guilt. Enough is enough. She hated the chairs opposite the couch anyway, and the window staring was getting a little creepy. She threw her hands in the air excitedly and yelled “Pluhhhhh-JEEBY!” when she saw the TV for the first time. She sat down to watch The Game.

+40 to her mood, “Having a blast”. Thank god she’s not cackling at a window anymore.

At 7:20pm she turned the TV off to make herself some dinner. She was only peckish, but grabbed some cereal nonetheless. When she did the dishes (well, dish) afterwards she got +250 Happiness Points for “Cleaning Something”. Such is the thrills of the neat-freak, I guess.

9pm rolls around and she gets a hankering for some window gazing again. I interrupt with the suggestion of perhaps looking for a job in the paper.

Science career, Test Subject. §44 p/h.
Medical career, Organ Donor. §22 p/h.
Culinary career, Kitchen Scullion. §25 p/h.

I can’t help but feel her main concern is “Will there be windows!?”.

None of those seem to be even close to a paid author. Maybe she can try again tomorrow. Not terribly bothered by the job search’s fruitless results, she jumps in the shower just before 10pm and is in bed by half past.

She dreams about the house, fire, books, and clowns. No windows, though.

Recent Features

For (not so) immediate release Where were you when we needed you? In Simmary #1 Amy #5 Indie Game: The Movie Ted #5

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