The Perfect Game for Perfectionists

So I finally got my hands on Lightning Returns. However, after 20 hours of playing it, I realize that it is not an appropriate game for curbing perfectionism. As if the fact that there's a time limit wasn't red enough of a flag.

Six [game] days in and only one main quest done, and then stumped in the other areas (monsters are too hard, plus I hate vast empty sites). It all bore in, and in despair, I spent the rest of the end of the world at an in Luxerion (teleport to next location > rest, for three days). There wasn't even a good bad ending to show for it (unlike in FFXIII-2).

Don't get me wrong, the game is not, by any means, unsatisfactory (except the schemata, which is ridiculous with its excess of neon colors and lack of auto equip, ugh). For starters, I love how simultaneous field exploration is: something changes each hour, and you've got Hope, Lightning, and everyone you pass by each trying to squeeze their piece, all while the clock ticks.

It's just that I approached it in an unfavorable way, and from the very start, too, with Normal Mode. The punishment for that is a new game with a loss of innocence, and a thorough disillusionment.

It'll all come right in the end, and then I can read all the Hope/Lightning fics that I want.

My Brain’s Relationship with the BIR

I need to learn the requirements, or I'll be arrested.

I need to learn how to bookkeep, or I'll be arrested.

I need to file to the last peso, or I'll be arrested.

I need to know the codes and the issuances, or I'll be arrested.

How can you tell me to stop worrying about about taxes? How can is it possible to be less than perfect in filing your taxes? One wrong move and I'll. Be. Arrested. No one, and especially not the inefficient and corrupt, will take credit if I'm arrested. I'll be arrested because solely because I wasn't anxious enough to care.

Neuroticism is Key

I have beef with the following. As they value apathy and self-interest over the concerns of their customers, this shouldn’t matter to them.

1) BPI my ePrepaid. It’s been a week since I inquired for my Paypal Verification code. I’m calling customer service as I write (89100, dial 0 to ask for a phone banker), and that was the only time I got it. The Facebook group did not, in fact, return with me shortly, and it took one phone call for me to immediately get my code.

2) The company that I work for. Especially the group that handles bank and tax information. I was tricked into applying for a payroll account in BPI, and then I looked like a fool for following their instructions (instead of the BIR’s) in applying for a TIN. So yeah, do their job, but don’t trust them to cover for you. You’re an independent contractor for the reason that they are incapable of supporting you even in basic things.

3) BIR. Except, of course, the person who ran the seminar that I’d just come home from. Defective as shit. If this is the case all over the country, then it’s no wonder that 1) people are confused with their taxes, and 2) people don’t register with the BIR at all.
I have a problem with the BIR in general. Except for Ms Dumbfuck Speaker, my RDO is a wonderful place, with apt organization and more-than-decent people. But if people ask why there aren’t enough jobs, or why there aren’t other companies that provide better service for say, electricity and internet, it’s because the trouble that the government puts you through is hardly worth your time, or your money. Just look at their shame campaign against doctors. That’s what our taxes are paying for. Fucking brats.

Overall, it’s just frustrating and appalling that we’re at the mercy of such immature and/or inefficient people. I’m no stranger to that.

But it can be dealt with, in which case, good vs bad will not matter as much as useful vs worthless.

That damned [insert damning thing here]

I don't think I have a habit to build for this month.
Neither do I have a habit to maintain. I stopped walking my dogs since the move.

Yes, we moved, and the dogs are in the old house until the demolition team comes by.

I'm trying to raise Php15,000 to enroll the dogs in a training program, and I opened some translation commissions for that. It rakes more money than the first job, which is good. I was surprised anyone took it up; I expected people to hiss because people have translated for free, as always.

It's still about them, though. It's still about me struggling to make ends meet and giving these ones a better life.

This came out of nowhere

Yesterday I got another depression attack, serious to the point that I got a fever.

I was thinking about Maxie all day. I thought about how miserable he was, tethered 24/7 if not for me playing with him or walking him. And when I'm not with him, he cries and barks and I'm anguishing in my room because no one wants to deal with my drama outside of it.

Whenever Maxie cries, it's like a message plastered on a billboard: "**You're no different from your shitty parents or your shitty neighbors!**"

Moreover, the dog training videos that I've watched had me more frustrated than motivated because, I realized, I didn't want to teach Maxie all these things before he would learn to behave. Like all the other dogs, I just wanted him to be able to enjoy himself without harming anyone. That he couldn't do that was what got him tethered in the first place.

The most common reaction is "Why did you get a dog if you're not going to take care of it properly?" Not that it's an invalid question, but what's the point of answering it now? The reality is that I do have a dog, and that I can only do so much to care for it. Now that I think about it, I've decided that I didn't want to bring a dog once I live alone, because attending to my own needs is hard enough as it is. I did not want to be a parent, period.

The question that gets me really stuck is: who's going to care for him if not me?

I can suck it up and commit, albeit grudgingly and with no peace in sight.
Family is out of the question unless he's trained.
Someone else, a new family or a no-kill shelter.
Or his soul would be freed if he were euthanized.

And here, we know that the anguish comes with guilt.

This line indicates a twenty-minute pause where I recalled a certain memory and took tests for PTSD. They came out positive.

Hector had a littermate we named Shin, and he was as affectionate as his mother. One day, he was visibly sick, but no one in my family bothered to take him to the vet. I held him and stroked him and told him things would be okay. He was dead the next morning, and a part of me along with it.

That was three years ago. Back then, I'd known absolutely nothing of what I knew now, but it was probably my first step into the estrangement crusade.

The day Shin died was the day I decided I could never trust my parents again, not with the health of a small thing, and neither with the health of their own spawn. On top of that, the fact that I couldn't do anything to prevent it, nor that no one really seemed to care for my distress was crushing for my self-worth.

Huh, PTSD. That's a whole new perspective to look at things, and if not for the italicized break, it really came from nowhere. But, I suppose, I've got next month to anguish over it.


The one sure sign that I don't have diabetes is the fact that I haven't lost any weight. I entered university at 180lbs and left at 196lbs, which is entry-level obesity in my case.

I'm doing the weight-loss thing, but I need to believe in another reason aside from that I'm ashamed of my body. David Soh did a great job of articulating it. It's a side effect of being raised by a mother who you can never please, I suppose; even now, she spearheads the body shame campaign.

In any case, other than the fact that shit I'm really repulsed by my body's size, I need to lose weight particularly around my thighs. They tore up a lot of pants and I have an edema on my right leg that comes up simply by walking. Then I need to regain the stamina I lost from inactivity and smoking, because five minutes of hard activity (when I'm dancing in the arcade) leaves me extremely thirsty. I can't finish a lap in swimming, either. Or jog for a minute.

As for the measures, I already said my habit for the month is walking my dogs regularly, although I got a few relapses because of a schedule that cannot accommodate the dogs, or because of the fatigue and soreness the exercise was giving my body. Hector and Maxie are two aggressive males, so walking them takes up a lot of arm strength. On days when I'm really driven, I try dancing at home, an opportunity to sweat, then drink, then sweat again.

Right now, I'm sure I overstretched something in left shoulder, and I feel like the walks threw my back over. I can't walk without my body feeling horrible afterward, but it breaks my heart to listen to them cry when I can't walk them. Then the grief process seems to begin all over again.

Wow where's the empowerment here?

Wednesday Musings

I streamed Dragon Age II today. My last playthrough, where I my perfected canon for DAI, was nine months ago. Funny how time flies.

Got a MasterCard after. I still can't link it to PayPal though, since it isn't loaded.

Then I went a
Stuff to draw:
self as vocaloid
dancesport clothing
On photoshop, since I learned the sketch effects again, let me see if I can color the lines this time.
I'm also checking deviantArt for things I've always wanted to learn about, like composition and perspective and advanced color theory. DeviantArt has its drama, but the resources are gold.

And I'm trying to work out the budget from my next paycheck.
50% is fixed costs, which thankfully, I still don't spend on, so I'll redistribute that.
20% for savings and investments each, and…
a meager 10% for outside expenses. Since it's the first paycheck from a new job, the tradition is to spend it on others. I'll get to that.

But one job, and a teacher's salary will never be enough to get my, so I need to monetize other services. Can people get paid to translate or to extract media from games?