When Final Fantasy X came out, I was so, so frustrated with it, and I could never quite figure out why. All of my friends loved it—they put a hundred hours into it easily, all finished it within a couple weeks of it coming out. But me? I couldn’t. Every time I played the game I felt this anger, and I couldn’t figure out why. That’s not really a surprise, though; I was eighteen years old, I’d just graduated high school, and I was in this nebulous state where I hadn’t yet established myself as an adult—not in the traditional, financially independent manner and not in an emotional manner, either. I still had a lot—a lot—of growing up to do. Oh, and on top of that, 9/11 had just happened.
Nola is a bad influence.