There’ll come a point when even taking the trash out is impossible.
Let the in-game interludes regain the quality of adventure; freestanding, necessary, sufficient.
The childhood state. Unmarred by rumination, retrospection.
The other irony of nostalgia is, you’re trying to arbitrage nows.
Immersion is eternity.
An oak canopy, in the longlight, seems to have infinite interior space.
Morale is good, once you net out existential angst and 10-year plans…and everything nets off in the end.
A Wild Joy 