August 23, 2005

My Broken Computer

My poor broken computer. I'm so sorry he hurt you. It was an accident. He was only trying to make me happy. You had been refusing for months to upload my pictures. We had to upload to the dinosaur and transfer the pictures via the network to you.

It was tedious.

It was an inconvience.

It was getting very old.

We tried many times to get you to cooperate. You stubbornly refused. We made sure all the picture software was up to date. We cleared disk space. You have memory the size of Dolly Parton's ta-tas. We ran anti-virus. We gave you a firewall that any computer would be jealous of. You're wireless, most computers would purr at the royal treatment you've been given.

Why, oh why are you so stubborn? Something had to be done. He was trying to coax you, just help you along. I'm so sorry it went terribly wrong and you won't boot anymore. Rest assured he's working on you. We haven't forgotten you. My internet withdrawl is in full throttle, you can be sure he's on the case.

And yes, I'm currently on his PC. The Black Beauty. Don't be too jealous, I won't be lured by her sleek black monitor and keyboard. Or how fast she is. It's just that it has been days with no writing, no emails, no blogrolls, and no surfing. At first it was a nice break. I distracted myself by reading through my vintage BH & G magazines.

Did you know housewives in the 1950s used to clean in their heels? As if I didn't feel inadequate already. I'm not even out of my pajamas some days and those ladies were cleaning and cooking in full cocktail party get-ups. Pfffft. I decided to try it out. I went into diva mode, put on a dress and my black high heeled boots and dusted. My feet hurt.

He's been trying to fix you for days. I've cleaned, washed walls, got caught up on laundry and wrote lists. I have my top tend trips all planned out when I come into money.

I WASHED WALLS for crying outloud.

I started talking to the fish. Her name is Roxy. I wanted to know why she hasn't died like all the other fish. Not that I'm a fish killer, but she's something of an oddity in a house where every golfish has died within forty-eight hours or less. She's not talking. Yet.

She's named after our French exchange student who won her from the AWANA fair. Little kids were throwing ping pong balls into her tiny fish bowl all night. We didn't even have a tank for the first two weeks because we were so busy running Roxy all over town. Her water got so dirty and green you couldn't even see an orange fish was in there. The kitchen started smelling like a pond. Yet she lived. I'm totally digging Ms. Roxy now. She's quite a survivor. But talking to a fish gets boring...

I've contemplated having a tea party with the cats.

I'm not trying to replace you, even though The Husband's Black Beauty is fast and reliable. She even has fancy screensavers and a password. I know you must feel discarded and threatened. But, I'm in dire straits here. You have been a part of my life and daily routine. You're the gateway to the outside world for a stay-at-home mom. Then you just take it all away?

I still miss you though. And a new snazzy PC can't replace you. You're like an old friend. Steady. Loyal. True.

You have to behave though.

Please behave. Or I might do something really crazy. Like taking up decoupage.