My husband in Stardew Valley just went out of his way to rescue an injured frog on a rainy day. Now we have an injured frog haven terrarium situation on the floor in our living room.

I realize he isn’t real, he barely exists as a concept, but also – holy mother of god I love that man so much. Courting him was tricky because he rarely gets off his computer and leaves the cozy room in his mother’s basement, but it was worth the wait.

I did have a baby with the aforementioned husband, in the game. Impulsive decision, not a choice I would make in real life.

I then proceeded to run away to Ginger Island for several months – growing a whole field of ancient fruit seeds in the sand, to make into wine, to sell to make money to support my growing family, obviously, and this decision has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that my house back in the valley was starting to feel too crowded and I wanted time to be alone.

Logged off for a while because real life got distracting. Upon logging back into that save, several months later, I discovered a small and helpless (pixelated) child sleeping in a crib in an upstairs room in my house that I’d completely forgotten about.

Nobody should let me anywhere near children. Apparently I’m liable to lose track of the fact that they exist, let alone probably need attention in order to thrive.

In Stardew Valley there is an option to change your mind about having a family. If you’re so inclined, you may visit a witch who lives in the mountains who can help you turn your children into doves and watch them fly away.

There’s a dark and twisted part of my brain that thinks this is one of the most hauntingly beautiful things I’ve ever heard.

–

Meanwhile, in real life, my parents’ dog is dying. Her body is shutting down.

She usually gets up and greets my dad at the door when he comes home. This evening she – well, she couldn’t, because her legs no longer work and she can’t move on her own. She was just laying there on her bed, crying until my dad came over to see her so she didn’t have to keep trying to get up.

She’s had a good life.

My younger sister moved away and took her cat, and now the cat that used to hide with me in my room is enjoying having the whole house to herself, which is lovely for her, but I’m sleeping alone without the familiar weight and warmth of a cat curled up beside my head.

I used to take that for granted, and now it is missing. I can’t remember the last time I felt this angry at the universe. I am bitter, irritable. My chest hurts. The house I’ve grown up in feels unnaturally quiet and still.

I’ve been escaping from conscious awareness of my surroundings, carefully avoiding the present moment. I know this isn’t especially healthy in principle but under the circumstances – maybe it doesn’t have to be. Not now.

Holding onto perspective is important and right now I’m having trouble finding a way.