The other day, I was laying in my bed playing Draw Something against one of my friends. As I tried to guess her drawing of the planet Uranus (use your imagination), I giggled and had a flashback to times when I could actually answer “yes” to the question “You got games on your phone?!”.
From Trivia Crack to Words With Friends, I’ve played them all. What really stuck out in my memory was Candy Crush. All the times I spent hours on this game, screaming at my phone when I ran out of moves and only needed to get one more cherry to win the level. Begging my friends over Facebook to send me more lives. The memories are quite traumatic, so why I decided re-downloading the game would be a good idea is beyond me.
Yet, here I stand, ignoring my responsibilities and playing level after level of the candy coated, antisocial app. I can’t help myself. The amount of joy that rushes through my body when I win a level I’ve been stuck on for six days is absurd. The endless string of profanities that leaves my mouth when I mess up a move would put a sailor to shame. A friend saw me playing the other day and made the comment “My mom loves that game!”. That’s when it hit me: this is where I peak.