Spare me the suspense.

Well, that was kinda traumatic. In a minor, emotional way.

I woke up early this morning from a comfy warm bed with someone I love, unable to sleep. I got up, and found that I for whatever reason, had a burning desire to play Final Fantasy VII.

So, I was pretty sure I knew where my Playstation was, and I even managed to find a power cable. But after checking in a few likely places, I couldn't find any Playstation discs.

So I delved into a few boxes I hadn't looked at since I last moved. And possibly not since the move before that.

One was full of junk - miscellanea, really. The other was full of manuals and warranties for things which I don't even own anymore. I also found some manuals to thinks I actually do have - and the instructions for several Final Fantasy games iwth no discs. So, I went through and threw out anything throw-out-able.

Why should this be traumatic? It was like rifling through what I've come to think of as my previous life. Another time and place, where I lived in brand new apartment, had a high-paying job and a promising career, a family. A man a woman and a child, living together. Of course, I am quick to recall that my ex was an emotionally abusive asshole, I was severely depressed and self-medicating with alcohol, and my daughter wasn't nearly getting what she needed, between my graveyard shifts and his drunken nights out.

But really it's the things that remind me of when Audrey was a baby that get me the most. The receipt for her stroller, the carrier that I wore her in when she was an infant. Manuals for her crib toys, for toddler computer games.

And maybe every mother feels this way - but probably not from rifling through electronics manuals at 6 in the morning, looking for an old game for an outdated console.

My TV is glaring at me, saying "Please insert PlayStation CD-ROM." The drama queen would say "One more thing I can't fulfill!" I'll just say, where's my fucking Final Fantasy CD, already.