Glass Gives Me Nightmares

The eternal struggle of every game developer who still lives with their parents. That crushing moment when Mom walks in, sees you clicking away at Unity or Unreal Engine, and assumes you're just wasting time on Fortnite again. The sad cat face perfectly captures that mix of indignation and despair when your career aspirations are dismissed as "playing games." Sure, I'm staring at a screen for 12 hours straight, but I'm creating worlds, not just living in them! Pro tip: Next time, just tell Mom you're "optimizing recursive algorithms for interactive entertainment systems." She'll either be impressed or confused enough to leave you alone.

Remember buying that fancy 1TB SSD thinking "I'll never fill this up"? Fast forward to installing Call of Duty and three AAA titles, and suddenly you're getting those pathetic "low disk space" warnings. Modern games are like digital hoarders—200GB here, 150GB there, with updates bigger than entire games from the 2000s. Your SSD never stood a chance against the bloated behemoths that are today's game engines with their 8K textures nobody asked for. The worst part? Half your library sits unplayed while consuming precious storage like a digital black hole.

Oh honey, the AUDACITY of non-programmers approaching developers with their "brilliant" game ideas! 🙄 The first panel: "I have a great idea for a game..." *IMMEDIATE REJECTION* Because sweetie, ideas are a dime a dozen and your "revolutionary concept" is probably just Flappy Bird with cats. But the second panel? "...and I've already created the graphics, 3D models, sound effects, music and everything else you'll need." *INSTANT ATTENTION* NOW we're talking! You've actually done the hard part instead of expecting me to manifest your fever dream into reality for exposure and a pizza! The bar is literally on the floor and you somehow managed to step over it!

Game devs scrolling through Unity Asset Store or Unreal Marketplace at 2 AM be like: "Ooh, a photorealistic medieval tavern pack for $89.99! My game is set in space, but I NEED this." The rational part of your brain knows you're making a 2D puzzle game, but that AAA-quality dragon model is calling your name like a siren. Next thing you know, your project folder has 47GB of unused assets and your bank account is crying. The struggle is real—you're literally drowning in temptation, desperately trying to escape before you click "Add to Cart" on that anime character bundle that has absolutely zero relevance to your survival horror game.

The road to shipping a game is like that curved road sign that never actually curves. You're cruising along thinking "just one more feature" and somehow that finished game is perpetually around a corner that doesn't exist. Feature creep is the GPS that keeps recalculating to "5 more years away." Meanwhile your deadline passed three energy drinks ago and your team is surviving on pizza and broken dreams.

Steam slides into your DMs offering a measly 10% discount and suddenly you're blushing like a schoolgirl, ready to empty your wallet for the fifteenth copy of Skyrim. But when Epic Games shows up with an ENTIRE FREE GAME—like, literally zero dollars—you're immediately on the phone with HR screaming about workplace violations. The audacity! The BETRAYAL! Steam could offer you a used napkin and gamers would frame it, but Epic literally throws AAA titles at people for free and gets treated like it committed a war crime. The gaming community's loyalty to Steam is stronger than most marriages, and Epic's desperate attempts to win people over with free games just makes everyone more suspicious. Nothing says "I don't trust you" quite like refusing free stuff out of pure spite.