Thank you, Mr Iwata.

The honest truth is that the news late last night that the president of Nintendo, Satoru Iwata, had died from cancer of the bile duct, hit me harder than dropping the man who is now my ex.

At the time I’d been thinking: he’s been a huge part of my life and there’s no way I’m going to be able to go back to things without him. Everything reminded me of him. It hurt, and I was losing my mind on a daily basis.

But that was connected to a distant abuse, a long manipulation. These are things I’m still washing off my skin.

This… Is different.

I never met Mr Iwata. The closest I’ve ever been is Nintendo Directs and the impossibly affable Iwata Asks. But thanks to his work programming so many of my favorite games, he has pretty much been a part of my whole life through his work. Even now there’s a stash of games and things around—I never was able to put down the sticks, as they say where I’m from.

And last night I saw the news, late, in a place that perks my “do a damn two second google search” sense, so I didn’t believe it until I did.

I’d be lying to you if I didn’t say it felt like I had just lost my favorite uncle. And when I found out how it happened I wanted to punch something. We can’t fucking do anything about cancer and it just takes from families, friends, the world.

So, once again I’m stuck in a room with things reminding me of someone out of reach. But again… This is different.

Mr Iwata’s work, both as programmer and president, has had such an impact on my life. Things that have brought me enjoyment,  things that he has said that have inspired me to no end—I will probably be making a compilation of things he has said to keep by my side to keep me going—and the difference is… These are things that I want to be surrounded by. This body of work is a worldwide legacy of perseverance, generosity, talent, humility, kindness, and humor. The world has been changed for the better for his influence. Really, there’s only one thing I can say:

Thank you, Mr Iwata.

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100 Things Reboot #1: When You Get a nice thing from a best friend in the mail

Let’s set the stage: I love getting mail in general. I love the anticipation. I’ve been over it 934953948539 times. (Okay maybe that number is hyperbole. But if you’ve followed the 100 Things tag (or was it the 100 things challenge tag?) I’ve been over it. But yesterday was different.

CUE A LOOP OF this tune when I open my mailbox yesterday morning. Do not stop the loop. These 24 hours are that silly.

“Parcel?” I don’t remember ordering something.

“Attempted delivery at 9:15 AM?” For once, the local post office is on top of things. I’ll attempt it tomorrow when I get off of work, I decide.

Fast forward to this morning when I can’t seem to figure out how ‘awake’ works. I try to text my boss to let her know I’m going to be a little late (I’m a little sick) but for some reason my screen’s not working. I’m blinking-sleep on the bus. I get to work about fifteen minutes after I realize what the problem with my phone was.

See, I was trying to dial my keys.

Further, APPARENTLY my phone bounced texts and my “Uhhh, we sold nothing, you got a day off” message didn’t come in. And I wouldn’t have known considering I was trying to place a call ON MY KEYS.

I shrug, hand in my keys (the work keys, not the phone keys/house keys), and get breakfast at a local eatery. On the way home I remember “Hey, I have a parcel.”

So I get to the post office and am handed THIS:

I GOT ROYAL MAIIIIIIIL (MAIIIIIIIL)

ooh, shiny

AS A MATTER OF SCALE I HAVE SCALED THIS DOWN TO ABOUT 30 PERCENT. WTF PHONE? EVERYTHING IS NOT THE SIZE OF THE GATEWAY ARCH. IT DID NOT ALSO ALL FIT.

slightly butchered box is slightly butchered

slightly butchered box is slightly butchered

 

An entire side is open. It’s like they actually TRIED to get a parcel WIDER THAN MY TORSO into a mailbox SMALLER THAN MY HEAD. On the upside, is not ParcelForce the most metal name EVER. Could you not see a metal band of nothing but postal and other mail-type workers in a band with that name? “YOU ADDED INADEQUATE POSTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE *METAL GROWL*”

NOW FOR THE BEST PART OF PACKAGES: RIPPING INTO THAT SUMBITCH LIKE A STARVING MAN INTO A HOAGIE AND MUG OF TEA.

*five minutes later*

*girly squee* Would you look at this it’s heart-shaped l’il Marmite.

HEART SHAPED MARMITE. OMG.

HOW FLIPPIN CUTE IS THIS

 

AAAAAAAAAAH

TEA AND MARMITE AND LETTERS OH MY

I’M CID HIGHWIND AND THIS IS HEAVEN

MARMITE AND TEA AND MORE MARMITE AND THE FACT THAT THE POST SMASHED A LOT OF THE MARMITE CAN BE FORGIVEN BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T BUTCHER THE TEA. AND IS THAT SUA. I JUST. I DON’T. I CAN’T.

EXCUSE ME WHILE I LET OUT THE SOUND THAT DEFINES GIRLY. IF WINDOWS SHATTER NEAR YOU, MY BAD.

AND OMG. TOFF. YOUR HANDWRITING. ADORBS. I GUH.

IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME. I THINK IT’S TEA TIME FOR ME.