I played Oblivion for a week. I stole a horse and a guard killed me. Everybody seemed to get mad at me when I talked to them. A guy with a cat face stole my money.
I kind of don’t like this game. I tried to return it to Wal-Mart. Guess what? It’s easier to return a living-breathing baby.
I am going to give this game another shot, because now it is tethered to me forever like a stubborn balloon until I feel like I get my money’s worth out of it.
The night after I tried to return it, I dreamt I was sitting at a card table in the middle of a busy city street. A woman stopped and said, “Jason, is that you?” It was my grandmother, but younger. She seemed surprised to see me.
My theory? I hadn’t slept the night before, so that night I slept so deeply that I ended up in the Land of The Dead by accident. (My girlfriend’s theory? No, I probably didn’t.)
My grandmother asked me for my website address, and I wrote it on a scrap of newspaper for her after three failed attempts.
I guess they have newspapers and the Internet in The Land of The Dead. I bet the headline everyday reads “EVERYONE HERE IS STILL DEAD”.
When I woke up, I felt like I had traveled back from a faraway place.
Ironic, I think, that a sixteen square mile fantasy world full of mythical fighting skeletons and intricately detailed enchanted forests can never compete with a city street, a card table and a chance meeting with a now distant relative.
UPDATE: My girlfriend replies, “It’s hard for me to agree that you probably ended up in the land of the dead when the same night you sleepily asked me, ‘WHY are the Irish always putting SHAMROCKS on their cars???’ “