Atari was so effing sweet.

Today, while attending my second General Chemistry lecture of the semester I witnessed an amazing thing.

In the middle of the lecture a life-sized Pac-Man ran screaming through the bottom of the lecture hall chased by a life-sized ghost. The whole thing lasted about 15 seconds and then the lecture resumed with no further interruption.

This ordeal got me thinking -- quite a remarkable development in itself. Isn't life just a gigantic game of Pac-Man? We are all Pac-Men. Arguably, some of us are Ms. Pacmen, but that really has nothing to do with what I'm talking about.

We are all running from ghosts. All the time. Ghosts are there to consume us, to beat us down. Right now I'm running from the ghost of my exam schedule, the ghost of sickness, the ghost of me wanting to fucking sleep more than 3 hours a night but I can't because I have insomnia and I'm sick and my neighbor plays rap too loud. I guess what I'm trying to say is ghosts=bad.

But we are the Pac-(Wo)Men. We're just running through the maze of life trying to avoid bad shit. Sometimes we eat things. Eating things gives you bonus points and if you get enough of those you get an extra Pac-Man. I'm not quite sure what the real-life parallel to this is, but it probably has something to do with prescription drugs.

We also eat a lot of little white dot things. Some would call this a primal urge to make ourselves whole again. After all, someone did cut a huge wedge out of our faces. Why can't we be circles? Circles are aesthetically pleasing. Admittedly, if we were circles we would have trouble speaking, munching on little white things, and occasionally eating 8-bit fruit, but I'm relatively convinced that in a perfect world these would be unnecessary and forgotten relics of a primitive past.

Oh yeah, sometimes in real life we also have to put quarters in things so they work, just like a Pac-Man game. Some examples of this include washers, dryers, pool tables, juke boxes and Tim's genitals. Sometimes we run out of quarters. Then we can't play Pac-Man anymore, or we just have to walk around for weeks with dirty clothes because I'm just not gonna hand-wash all this shit.

Then again, life might not be like Pac-Man at all. I may have just taken way too much cold medicine. I suppose we'll never know.