I like videogames. Not so much as to be one of those hardcore gamers who spend every waking hour playing World of Warcraft, but just enough so that, when I like a game, I spend a few (sometimes in double digits) hours a day obsessing about it till it ceases to interest me. Sometimes, some of these games are so interesting that I spend weeks on them. This is when they invade my subconscious.

No, that doesn’t mean I hunt down people with chicken wire and plastic bags Manhunt-style in my sleep, just that sometimes, when I sleep, I see images of crowbars, Doom imps and Minesweeper squares. I also sometimes see them when I’m awake but just about to fall asleep (a condition known as daydreamus procrastinous).

The purpose of me weirding you out with this revelation is to warn you that its finally happened. I think this affliction has moved to the next stage and has started taking over my conscious as well. Let me explain. I am a big fan of the Grand Theft Auto series of games. I like to spend hours playing, exploring and generally creating mayhem in the fictional, yet quite lifelike, game environment. And I think its affected my real world activities as well. The other day, when I was driving (in real life), I accidentally scraped the car against an oncoming autorickshaw (I don’t remember if I was imagining myself playing GTA at the time, though that would be both totally awesome and totally creepy). There wasn’t much damage, just a little give and take of paint on both sides.

Later on, while inspecting the damage, I actually caught myself thinking, ‘No problem. Just reload an earlier save game and…’ Oh dear me, I guess the chicken wire is going to come out sooner or later. So I thought it fair to warn everyone right now. If you see me walking down the street, just wave from a distance. Unless I happen to be carrying a sniper rifle or something.

PS: I realise that my condition is really not that bad yet. I remember The Curious Case of Benjamin ButtKrack, who once, after a long session of playing Counter-Strike, sat up in his sleep, held out his hands as if wielding an AK-47 and cried, ‘Kill the Russian M***erf***ers’, to the consternation of roommate Ice-Tee, who, till then, was sleeping soundly. I don’t think he slept very soundly after that. Ever.

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