Let's face it. This isn't about games anymore.

For those of you who follow Sarcasm's Voice (or rather, did follow it, before it got deleted. She didn't do it, BTW. The account was removed, and she was never told why), sorry got off track there. I'll start again.

For those of you who follow Sarcasm's Voice, you will recall that she was married to a . . . let's say a somewhat inconsiderate fellow, and that she had started proceedings to extricate herself from the marriage. Well, I bring you good news, friends. The first, most difficult part of the divorce is over. Custody was decided today, and SV came out on top.

She's going to get 100% custody over her lovely daughter, and split legal custody. Of course, there's still visitation (about 3 months per year), but the majority of her time will be spent with her mother, which is all SV really wanted.

Anyway, more news as I get it, since she probably won't be able to say it here.

BTW, I'm not the type to say "vote for me!" but this is pretty important info for anybody who knows or cares about SV. So, if you could, click on the little "vote" button and help me get visibility for the news. Thanks.

My girlfriend doesn't understand why I smile when she worries over having a hot meal ready for me when I get home. The other day I stood there, shaking my head and saying, "Hon, I appreciate it, but you don't have to kill yourself over this. Look, before I met you, I used to come home, open a packet of Ramen, and eat that in front of MST3K re-runs, sometimes without waiting for the water to heat up the noodles."

Then I stopped, and stared off into the middle distance, head cocked to one side. That's not how it was. When I was on my own, I used to come home, grab the mail, take the dog out for a walk, and read the mail while the dog exercised in the backyard. Then I used to work on answering e-mails, updating the Cthulhu show, and sometime around midnight, think about getting something to eat (McDonalds was still open late, or there was Ramen, or Hamburger Helper Singles).

I had to really think about it to piece together what my life was like before. Now, of course, it's totally different. When I get home from work, there's a family dinner, everyone seated around the table. I go over some schoolwork with the little one, or look at some art that she wants to show off. We play Uno or Memory for about an hour, then she's off to bed, and I work on Cthulhu until it's time to sit and watch a show together (sometimes a movie, sometimes TV) and then head to bed around midnight.

I guess the thing is, I know my life has totally changed. I'm cool with that, I even like the new life. But why have I forgot what life was like before? I mean, my memory is legendary for it's gaps, but why do I have to concentrate to piece together a whole lifestyle that I held consistently for over two years?

No point to this, no theme. It just bothers me.

So, it turns out that my wife's boyfriend likes the Calls for Cthulhu show. Not a huge raving fan or anything, but he does like it. That's kinda weird.

What's more weird is that he likes video games (huge WoW fan) and wants to talk about how games are made, what the process is like, how console programming is different from PC programming, and stuff like that. It seems really strange to talk to him about it.

But the weirdest part of all was that he's a big Civilization fan. Well, I'm working on Civ right now, so I asked Sid for an autograph, and gave it to him. I mean, sure it was a small nice thing to do for someone, no big deal for me, and a big deal for him. So from a rational standpoint, it was all cool. I'm not an angry person, not vindictive. I don't blame him for what happened between my wife and me. There's no reason I shouldn't do something for him, if it's in my power.

But it does feel strange to be doing nice things for the guy who tried to break up my home.

Like everyone says, I don't update this enough. It occurs to me that huge changes have taken place, which I really should have written about.

First off, I found someone. She's actually someone I met on Mindsay, some of you guys know her, so for the moment, I'm going to keep her identity close to my chest. The most I'll say here and now is that she is wonderful, kind, shockingly supportive, and my best friend in the world. And hot - did I mention hot? And those legs, the way she walks when . . Anyway.

We've known each other for a few months now, met here right after my wife and I split up. Our relationship is moving, by any normal standard, way too fast. Thing is, she has such maturity, and we've both been hurt in relationships before, so we are taking everything so carefully, it doesn't really matter that we're moving too fast. My co-workers say that I am totally crazy. I can't reply in any way other than to shrug and say that, logically, I can't think of any reason why this wouldn't work.

But now it gets weird. Yesterday, (wednesday 4/16/08) the wife flew out here with her boyfriend, so they could rent a truck and figure out what they want to take.

If you've read the other stuff on this blog, you'll know that I don't really bear any animosity for my wife. I don't agree with her decisions, but I think she's doing what she has to do (and, without trying to sound like a dick, I think I'm better off . . .).

So, yeah. It's not like there's any fighting over the sofa or anything. I mean, she does want one of the XBoxes, which is a little painful, but then again, I've got three of them. I can't really complain.

Anyway, so she's staying with her boyfriend in the guest bedroom (I wouldn't send them away to a hotel, not when the guest bedroom is right there). And right now, while I'm at work today, she and her boyfriend are packing up stuff with the help of my girlfriend . . .

Yeah, this isn't weird at all. . .

I'm in a large concrete shack with vaulted ceilings, where dim lighting exposes a small circle of people sitting so close to each other their knees are touching. Each of them holds an African drum between their legs. The smell of incense is missing, but the air is redolent with it. The light scent is pervasive without offending.

When we entered this back room, with its orange concrete walls and polished hardwood floors, we took off our shoes. Everyone else kicked off their slippers. I however, unworthy intruder that I am, had to unvelcro tennis shoes before entering.

There are only enough chairs for the worthy, so I sit cross-legged against a wall and watch.

Between sets, they discuss posture and stretching the hands to prepare for the intensive drum sessions. The teacher is a spindly youth, with glasses, a beard, and bells on his feet. There are three women and one man in the acolyte circle. They range in age through the 30s and 40s. Jeans and casualwear abound, except for the man, who sits in a business suit, jacket thrown over the back of his chair. He uses his lyrical British accent to impress upon the class the fact that slavery caused the migration of music.

The drum itself has really only two sounds, a thick baritone from striking the center, or a tinny tenor from tapping the edge. The only other way to change the sound is to strike harder, varying the length and volume of the sound.

But this isn't really about the sound that one drum makes. By giving each person one specific rhythm, they can combine and mesh, fading in sections, then releasing them.

It's the rhythm they are studying, not the sound. They are learning how to work together, how to hear each other, how to predict. The teacher calls this a "life skill" and I'm not sure everyone knows what he means.

But I see one student swaying with the music, eyes closed, with hair hanging over her face. I look over at the wall where they keep the yoga mats and the tiny Buddhist shrine, and I think there's something beautiful here.

I would not be here, sitting against a wall in this tribal room, feeling the percussion in my bones match the beat of my heart, if I were still married. That's not an accusation, but rather a joyous recognition of what my life may yet be.

There are many drum circles. There are dances. There are plays. There are games. There are sports. And there are people. Oh, so many people.