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Let’s say I warmed up to it.
I felt like Call of Duty wasn’t for women.
Or, not for women like me, who are nervous, slow beginners with horrifyingly average aim.
Thus, my association with boys at lunch snorting dairy.
It’s appropriate, then, that my bedroom meet-ups with Black Ops 6 began with a boy.
Like, do I even know you anymore?
Are you going to spend $30on the bong gunand forget about me?
Play should be liberating, not indoctrinating, right?
I started getting sleepy ideas around 3 AM.
Braggy Americana that’s what I hated about Call of Duty.
It’s actually reliably absurd, so I now think of it as a shortcut to dreaming.
But I’ve realized it’s better to trivialize what scares me than let it win.
