Bastard Cyberdemons!!

I decided to do level 28 of Memento Mori again (that's a famous Doom PWAD, you lot) It took five attempts! If I'm not being inadvertently blown up by archviles, I cop a rocket off'f the third of the cyberdemons. The first two are okay, but the one immediately round the corner in a stairwell (just play it, you'll know) is a pig.

The successful run (that's 100% kills, items and secrets) took nearly 54 minutes - it's a big level. Takes about 37 to get to those cyberdemons. Frustration!!

Later I find out the compet-n record (basically the world record) is... less than 18 minutes!! OH MY GOD!!

Um, oh crap, I can't stop this, there's no way out

Right listen you bitches. I have a problem. It's called, um, not knowing what the brown trousers to do. What with? With my life, that's what with. Playing Doom is just another way of putting stuff off, really, especially maps that I've done before, even ones as good as MM 28.

For example, over the next few weeks I have probably one, possibly two, maybe even three long difficult journeys with potentially stressful situations at the end of them:

  1. Go to Reading for Simon's birthday party thing (Travel cost, medium but still too high for my taste, situation stress, quite high, having to lug bags of blankets round town centre pubs, having to sleep on the floor)
  2. Go to Newcastle because Sarah wants me to visit (Travel cost, apparently enormous, stress, slightly lower because I won't be sleeping on a floor, she's got a spare room, but I'd be there for probably longer than a day)
  3. Finish my DC form, go to Enfield again and have a job interview (Travel cost minimal because they pay it for you, but situation stress is through the roof - it's a blasted gobshite job interview for brown trousers' sakes)

I want to do all three but I don't want to do any of them. What will happen is I'll keep putting them off and putting them off until the opportunity is lost and I'll goatsucking hate myself for it. I mean, take (1): potentially a good night out, ruined by my not being able to relax because I'm in foreign parts; (2), see (1); (3), doesn't need any explanation...

What it comes down to is this. I need help. I have so little confidence, so I do nothing, and my little confidence turns into even less confidence. I'm trying to write a blog to force myself to stop keeping my thoughts to myself, but it's not making me feel any more outgoing, which is what I wanted.

I'm screwed, I need a lot of help. Help me. Help me!! ("Help me God!!" "Hello, Homer, this is God...frey Jones, of Rock Bottom...") I don't even know whether I'm writing this because I need to share it with other people somehow or whether I just see it as an amusing attempt to get some sympathy and told, yeah, Rob, it's okay, you don't have to do anything you don't want to and blah. I suppose in my head I am and always will be the shit-scared-of-everything kid of 13-14 years old that I spend my life trying to convince myself that I'm moving away from. Bloody cowlicking gorillarimjobbing hellfire! How the ratmuff do you all cope?!