We, meaning the Fiery One and I, have suffered a terrible loss. When he and I returned from our weekend jaunt to Cosmopolis to visit my family for an early Christmas, I tried to start up our computer, and she just couldn't muster the strength. I gave it several tries, but her familiar beep was nowhere to be heard.

I felt a rising panic for a couple of minutes when I realized that I was completely disconnected from my beloved internet. No e-mail! No catching up post-trip on the sites I hold so dear! No ability to post to this website for at least twelve hours!

Dear gawd, I am addicted to my own phantom limb. Is there a porn site dedicated to this sort of fetishization?

Eventually, I realized that all is not lost. Despite this, though, a whole hell of a lot still is:

  • My mistress, Photoshop, is trapped within the evil, non-communicative box. This means that Luva will have to exercise even more patience than she likely already has with this, my slowest redesign ever.
  • When my favoured moleskine notebook was snatched along with my purse a couple of weeks ago, I lost a good deal of writing I had been working on, but I had presciently stored some of the pieces on our computer. Now, even my back-up copies lurk stubbornly out of sight.
  • Internet scrabble club, I will miss you dearly. My Saturday mornings will be hollow without the fifty minutes of frustration, swearing, and confirmation of my middling vocabulary.
  • This computer has been my clock, weatherperson, entertainment listings, photo album, television, stereo, and lifeline over the past few years, and it pains me to see it in such a diminished capacity.

    As a result of this calamity, I will likely not find a way to access the internet from home before we leave for Costa Rica on this coming weekend. I will update as I can until then in whatever hobbling and time-restricted fashion I am able to find.

    I think you will like the change, actually. Rather than blathering on and on and on as I tend to do, I will have to keep the length of my entries limited to whatever I can write inside of a lunch hour. I might just stop being that clinging friend who invites herself over and stays waaaaay to long and become that happy acquaintance that you look forward to bumping into at the grocery store.

    And on the plus side for me, I may actually get some housework done before we leave the country. It sounds unbelievable when I say it, I know, but the likelihood has increased, even if it is statistically improbable and without historical base.

    Meanwhile, the Fiery One, the underdog of this story, is working furiously to restore reliable internet access in our humble home. I just hope to gawd that the increasingly unbalanced cat doesn't get him first.

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    "Life's Tragedy" by Paul Laurence Dunbar

    The Collected Poetry of Paul Laurence Dunbar