Time for Family Dynamics

When my brain is overstimulated or possibly dabbling with the idea of being enraged, I choose to write in red. I realize this is predictable. However this will serve as a warning for the content of further posts *cough* rants. But perhaps this is not anger because I have just read the same page 6.8 times and still do not know if the parrot is alive or dead, but envy, because I lack the boldness to infringe on everyone else's personal space with such joyous abandon.

My daughter, as I have discussed, has quite a wide group of male friends, all of whom are deeply invested in the internet game "Minecraft." This game can be played alone, but what is the fun in that when one can link to others who share the same passion for building and smashing shelters, teleporting aimlessly through various biomes, and vanquishing the Enderman threat, and share the thrill with entire unwitting families?

Currently, my daughter and I are sharing a couch. (my son recently vacated the room) Nothing unusual about this, except that the only conversation being had is through a headpiece speaker system hooked to her laptop, and if she were in Kindergarten, I would be reminding her to use her "indoor voice." Something about this game makes a child who was, only moments ago, quietly reading Fahrenheit 451 with a cat curled in her lap, begin shrieking that it is utterly unfair to use THAT much dynamite to blow up her house, and mourn the fact that she will have nowhere to sleep tonight when the creepers come.

Somehow I imagined that the headphones, which indeed, fully cut out the conversation of the teen mob wandering through seed generated terrain laced with giant spiders, skeletons, and helpless pigs, would also drown out the conversation at this end. What was I thinking? The microphone which makes her look like a telemarketer or dental receptionist actually functions to amplify the shrill cries of victory as she annihilates members of a flock of sheep for food energy , the almost religious zeal with which she banishes her friend to an alternate universe, and this, as her friend protests his 4th death at her practiced hand, "you know where all the people who care have gone? They died!!!!"

Perhaps I should read with great concentration for the next two minutes, leap to the coffee table, scattering candles, a terrified cat, and homework, I all directions, and proudly proclaim "THE PARROT IS DEAD DAMMIT" (or alive, whatever my studies reveal). Teenagers in several living rooms across Harker Heights would pause, momentarily stunned into silence.....before revving into full gear again.  Worth it? I'll check with the cat.