Reeeeaaaalllllly bad day yesterday. Lost my ereader at an Italian Restaurant, certain it stayed weth the dirty dishes on ourt table. Walked, I'm sure. Possible perps: two college age girls sitting at an adjacent table, my waitperson, and the busboy. Let me just say that in this day and age, my ereader now resides at someone else's house. Not much fun for the perp, for the piece is no longer produced and I have the power pack. He/she has about two bars left on the battery and I've killed my book buying account.
Last night sort of as a bedtime surprise, my computer crashed its hard drive. And in some sort of sympathy move, my husband's power pack decided it won't stay plugged into any socket, which means he essentially has no power. Catastrophic for him, it's his employment tool.
I think the big black cloud over our head wears a cloaking device so we can't see it. But we are seeing its effects, for sure. In a few days or so, the computer doctor in my town will make a pronouncement for my magic box and hopefully be able to repair my hard drive and retrieve my favorites list, that hallowed ground that quickly gets me to those special places where I spend my time when dodging work on the memoir. No, I don't remember any of those addresses and I hardly recognize the letters on this keyboard, alien as it is, though I know these are the same keys as on my own computer.
With my husband off the premises, I must wait to have him show me the way to my own emails without his, since this equipment is registered to him, so his fave list is not mine. Nothing on his is interesting. There are no finds here for me. He doesn't have a secret internet life and is the same bland, stable, steady man online as he is in the house. That's so nice. His faves include things like hymns, old ones he loves to hear.
I'm the crazy one in this household. I like to think of myself as his spice. He likes to think of me as eccentric bordering on nuts. But, really, I'm just more animated, with varied interests, major curiosities. A better description of him is that five minutes with him and you'd know he's an engineer. Not a bad foil for me.
I am quite scattered this morning without my familiar tool, without my ereader, with a phone that drops calls nonstop and phone geeks that either don't know any more than I do, or love keeping their secrets. Just means I must go do battle with one of them before the afternoon is out, and hold my tongue, or not.
Add memoir to the mix and I'm not getting the ironing done. Soooo, I've moved this alien computer to proximity to the overflowing ironing board. I absolutely need to push that heavy metal across fabric or I need to buy more clothes. Between thoughts, a shirt gets ironed, sort of. I'd best get to it.
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