Haven't written much lately. Haven't lost interest in this blog, it is only that nothing much has happened other than it is raining so much that I had to make a doctor's appointment so I can have my vestigial gills removed. And there is that messy question of whether to keep the webbing between my fingers. I mean, they make it hard to write with a ballpoint pen, but they're so handy if I need to go into the back yard.
Last night I loaded a flash card into my printer's card reader but the software alternately opened and lost the card contents, over and over again, as if there was a faulty wiring connection. There was no faulty connection, only the dawning realization that this new computer is not the reliable equal of the one that was stolen from me. I did the only thing that works, spent fifteen minutes unloading and reloading the printer software.
I realized that the card reader was not the only thing misfiring. My normally beloved Photoshop program freeze/crashes - something it never did before. For that matter several other programs seem troublesome. Is it the computer? Is it the configuration the new computer uses? Why me?
While the software unloaded the printer program loaded/reloaded, I had a complete swearing, shouting, hissy fit in the privacy of my own home.
Under my screams of anger, paint peeled from my walls. I railed aloud, begging for the downfall and capture of the thieves whose ten minutes of mischief cost hours lost in vacation time handling post-theft emergencies and cost monies exceeding $3,650 in insurance, cash, the cost of installing new doors, installing a security system and the ongoing expense for the security system's monthly charges.
And how can I put a value on the loss of my sense of security in my own home? My lost trust of my fellow beings? That when I leave the house in the mornings there is a well of unhappiness at what I might find on returning in the evening. What personal items will have been fiddled with or rummaged through by some thoughtless feckwit?
I vented. I fumed. I yelled. My cats sailed out of the house, fleeing for their lives.
I swore on the tainted souls of the thieves. I begged for their capture and lock up in a penitentiary. I begged for their use as bitches by their extraordinary ugly, nasty tempered, temperamental and - this one is important - overly endowed 'room mates' in Folsom Prison. I shook my fist at the skies, in hope if any singers serenade the rat bastards at Folsom, may the singer be of the ilk of Tiny Tim and his ukulele on a bad day.
I'm usually a little more forgiving but this computer thing is making me a bit cranky.