I’m getting ready to graduate from high school and I am overwhelmed by real life. So much so that I couldn’t possibly find the time to play the sims and keep up in the community this should all die down in about 3 weeks.
I haven’t abandoned my blog I had a really bad cold last week and this week I have strep throat and a sinus infection. I feel really tired constantly and even making this quick post is tough I’ll be back soon.
This is Elijah, Isaac’s daughter all grown up and stunning if I do say so myself.
This is Zerr Lathias he was a sim I saved from an old family I had two (?) years ago.
And this is the house where they will make babies start a legacy.
Attempting to make sims 2 sims over in sims 3 should be easier since there is less variety in facial structure. Wish me luck!
The save with Prince and Mandy and their kids messed up the same way that the Lilisa save messed up so now all I have is my Perfect Genetic Challenge that is working. I have everyone in my sim bin but to much work making things the way they were. Might do a story with Mandy and Tura because I love their faces but probably going to focus on the PG story.
TL;DR
My game is really messed up lost everything but the PG challenge, doing a new story.
Declan our resident Hipster-Tot rolling his eyes at his dad because he doesn’t know who Gotye is and says Kimbra is just “all right”. He also wants everyone to know that Helena Beat was his favorite “womb tune”.
I stepped outside once more as I felt a familiar stinging in my eyes. It had always been a habit of mine to release out here where nature’s dull roar muffled my cries. Where mother couldn’t hear them. And that is when I noticed her. Sitting by the pond, a sketchbook resting beside her. She seemed so completely at peace it distracted me from the fact she wasn’t supposed to even be here.
I called out to her several times and she ignored me. I finally walked over and tapped her shoulder lightly. She bolted away from my touch with a frightened look in her eyes. She signaled for me to wait then pulled a pencil from behind her ear and scribbled something on a empty page. She held it out to me, it was faint as if it was written in a whisper.
Mother would always call me stupid out here. She’d sit in that chair which she referred to as the queens throne while I played with my toys at her feet. Every so often she’d reach down and throw one into the pond. It was always my favorite at the time; at least she paid attention. When she was too drunk to make it into the pond she’d slide her foot across the stone flooring until it made contact with one my play items then she’d raise her her heel and smash it to pieces. A few times I shielded a toy with my hands; a few times I ended up with my fingers broken. Maybe I was stupid.
I sat down in the lounge, I was forbidden from entering as a child. And mother always knew when I had stepped in there. Even if I perfectly recreated the pillow arrangement on the sofa that day she knew. And she would force me to lay across the sofa perfectly straight while she sat on my ankles and watched her favorite soap operas. I turned on the television, a Video cassette began playing it something old; it was my birth.
My mother was waking up, I could hear myself crying in the background. Maybe I had exerted her, maybe she just didn’t want to face the reality that she had let some middle age producer knock her up in a sleazy motel at the height of her acting career.
“It’s a boy,” my father exclaimed as my mother sat up.
Her face changed to swiftly from mild interest to complete disgust. I think that’s when she first began hating me. And all these years I thought it was something I’d done to her. How stupid of me.
