The phone rings. It doesn't do that often, so the sound jolts me out of a daze. I glance at the caller ID and quickly hit the 'ignore' button, an honor I reserve for only a select chosen few: the hordes of debt collectors, and Paxton.
"The fuck does he want?" I ask aloud, and go back to work. Probably wondering where the next article is. I glance at the desktop folder called "DRAFTS," and see the icon has stopped adding new files every time I throw a draft in there. No one understands the creative process these days.
Before I find myself dozing off again, my office door flies open. I don't even have to look up, I know what this is.
"Why do you always ignore my call, asshole?" Paxton asks. I immediately regret wasting the money on the "Knock before entering" sign on the door. Or am I mad at myself for assuming it would work in the first place? "So what's going on?"
"Just trying to get some work done, you know." I reply, my eyes glued to the screen. The sound of furious keystrokes persists for only a short while before he cuts in again, as if he knows exactly how long to pause to get me to tune out before proverbially kicking the door in again.
"Work, huh? So you're playing Kerbal Space Program, being sad, and trying to figure out what the fuck to write about, then?"
Another short pause.
"What do you want from me?" I cut back. I don't look up from the screen, as I can't quite get the trajectory on this rocket quite right for a Duna orbital insertion.
"I want articles, man. I want content. You're supposed to, I don't know, be the 'writing' guy. And you know Luke has been on both our asses to get more shit out. The Board of Directors told him to have a new weekly column out, and that's your thing."'
"I'm trying man, I just... Board of Directors? Wait, aren't you in charge? I don't- "
"That's not important right now, Casey. Just find a topic, man. It's a column, you can do pretty much anything you want to. Just have a pitch ready for Luke by tomorrow."
"More like... Luke Hardboss, am I right?" We laugh and high five. Luke yells from his own office "GOT 'EM." I'm not sure if he heard my sick burn, or if he just knew. Paxton leaves my office, knowing the next phase of my creative process after sulking: advanced sulking. I lean back in my chair and ponder. "Can you believe this shit, Chris?" I ask rhetorically. Chris mumbles something, not looking up from his drawing pad. "Wait, how long have you been here? What did you do with my filing cabinet that was there?"
"Mm-hmm" he replies and draws away. At least someone around here is getting something done.
"Okay, column ideas... Column ideas..." I mutter, looking around the room as though I can Keyser Soze my way out of this one. "Top ten best desk lamps for gaming? The dankest antidepressants for getting sick no-scopes? How to hide your furry porn collection in a 'DRAFTS' folder on your desktop?"
"UwU?" Chris asks.
"I'm going for a walk." I respond, shutting down my computer. Maybe some fresh air and sunshine will help clear my mind.
I stand outside the office at my favorite smoking spot, struggling to light yet another cigarette while keeping my back to the rain. Column ideas... conceptually it's so easy and yet so hard. Reviews are easy, and Luke handles most of that work anyway. I write about interesting tech news as I find it, but for some reason no one cares about silicon wafer production yields as much as I do. "It's not fair." I think. These other guys are always so... damn... productive. Luke can code away like no tomorrow. Paxton can livestream 24/7. Brian can aimlessly scream at things like the best of them. And Chris. That Chris, even when he's asleep he's... doing art things. Arting? That bastard.
"Fuck, it's hopeless." I mutter, and suddenly a hand appears on my shoulder.
"Hey there, friend. What seems to be the trouble?" I hear in Luke's perpetually-soothing voice. I face the floor, the dreadful feeling of defeat finally overtaking me.
"This fucking column, dude. It's like... How am I supposed to write a weekly gaming column? I'm so damn busy with work all the time that I don't have time to have some kind of gaming column every week."
"You mean, like, your real job outside of this fourth wall?" Luke asks.
"Yeah, that. I just don't have the time to make something for the hardcore gamers out there. I can't put in the hours to have enough insight to any game or genre to be able to be an expert at it. And so I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to write about."
"Hmm, well, maybe that's not your calling, then, you know? There's other subjects you can pursue. You know, find your own lens you can present things through." I know he's only trying to help, but he makes it sound so... easy. My own lens... my own perspective. What the fuck perspective do I have? It's not like there's anyone else out there who works all the damn time and...
"Wait a minute... That's it!" I say as I turn to Luke. Despite standing in the rain this whole time with me, he's not even slightly wet. I make a note to myself to ask him later how he does that.
"You've figured it out, my child." he says, and walks towards the door. I look towards the sky and raise my arms towards it.
"I've finally got it!" I explain towards the heavens. "Now, finally, the world will bow before me and-"
"No man, that's the other thing." Luke says back to me.
"Oh yeah. my bad."
Introducing "The Filthy Casual," a weekly column where I write about games and the culture from my perspective: one where I work too fucking much but enjoy video games as my passtime. Expect #1 this Friday, where I'll talk about trying to maintain a regular raiding schedule in Destiny with five other adults who ALSO work too fucking much.
