Perdizione Informatica

We all know The Truth.
You can tell you're a gamer when the clocks go back and you get a secret, unspoken thrill from the anticipation of the extra hours of darkness.
You feel a grim sense of satisfaction when the rain lashes down at a weekend. Knowing that to go outside is an impossibility and that the only alternative is to play through all 300 years of the Rome: Total War campaign. On very hard.
Time spent in pubs with friends makes you restless and resentful. Vital hours of Counter-Strike practice are being lost forever.
If people really want to speak with you, then they can just log on the World of Warcraft beta test and make themselves useful, helping you to bash wild boar.
The drone of the milkman's float and the sweet alarm of the dawn chorus is your signal to go to bed, not get up.
You're fully versed in WWII small arms tactics thanks to your mastery in Call of Duty's Browning Automatic Rifle. Might come in handy one day. If a loved one asked you to choose between gaming and them, you would be forced to let them go. After all, non one who really loved you could ever ask you to make such a choice.

--------------------------------

Non è farina del mio sacco, ma quale immensa verità è racchiusa in queste parole...

Si, lo so, questo post è in inglese. Lo sapevo che non avrei resistito a lungo. E già che ci sono, riassuntino della giornata: Fatto Un Cazzo, Finito Serious Sam in Cooperative Mode Grazie A Super Poteri Conferiti Da Grappa Alla Mela, Finito Mezz'Ora Fa, Birra, Post, Adesso Nanna. Vita Frenetica, That Is.