I can’t promise much of
October 12, 2003
I can’t promise much of a blog today, because my ISP seems to be broken. I don’t know what happened. It was fine yesterday. Then I actually turned the computer off and left it alone for some stunning number of hours in a row – like, 20 hours ALL IN A ROW. Served consecutively, you understand.
Anyhow, this afternoon I finally relented and allowed myself to go ahead and boot up my little Dell dominatrix (well, she can make me cry and beg for mercy…but I love her). I sat there happily, with a mug of tea in one hand, and tried to log on to the internet. No deal. I guess the ISP’s ok, but my program accessing my ISP – busted.
I even signed up for my 6 months of AOL (I’m sorry, Teri, I know it’s small minded of me, but OOOHHHH, the loathing), so I could download a new program. Downloaded, installed, still busted.
I’m just so very sad. I don’t know what to do next. Have I mentioned my amazing prowess with all things computer-y? I tried restarting. Um…twice. Still didn’t work, even the second time. Ok, or the third. I guess I have to scrap the program entirely, erase it and pretend not to miss it, and then download it again, hoping the computer doesn’t smell my desperation. I’ll lose all my bookmarks and all those emails I couldn’t bring myself to delete…
Ok, clearly this is my problem, not yours. I’ll stop torturing you with it. Let me leave you with a few quotes from the boys to brighten your day/round out your encounter with drivel, depending on your viewpoint.
Yesterday I was hauling Raphael out of his car seat, and he was peering over my shoulder at a tree. The leaves had turned a brilliant, glowing yellow, and he was amazed. But although this isn’t the first autumn he’s experienced, it’s the first he’s talked about, and he didn’t know how to put what he was seeing into words. “Oh,” he sighed reaching for the tree, “oh…yummy plant.”
Tonight Max was taking a bath, and it was time to wash his hair. I was just about to rinse the suds out when he held up one imperious hand and shouted, “STOP!” I froze. “What, honey?” He turned his scrunched up face to me and pointed at his tightly shut eyes. “You have to be careful, because I don’t want any soap gliding down to my eyes.”
Ok, that may not seem like all that exceptional of a quote, but I love that he used the word “gliding.” That made my little writer’s heart go pitter-pat. Oh, the thrill of precise language!
Finally, Tre and Max were playing at the neighbor’s house this afternoon. Tre came running home to tell me they were going to another friend’s house. I said that was fine, and he turned to go. Halfway to the door he turned back and pointed a serious finger at me. “Now, remember, Mama. We won’t be at Kelsey’s house.” He spoke slowly and clearly, as one might to an idiot, “we’ll be at Craig James’.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I think I can remember that, son.” He shook his head, “Mama, there’s no telling what you’ll remember.”
So, humbled by my son and saddened by my computer, I’m going to bed. If you know any program-healing chants, have at it. I’m stumped.