May 26th, 2009

Maybe it will teach me patience?

My Mac laptop is, in computer-years, somewhere in her late 80s. AKA 4.5 years old. Most of the little rubber feet were lost a long time ago. The operating system can't be updated. Something is wrong with the charger, which makes a high-pitched shriek my husband can't tolerate and I figure will help me adapt to tintinitus if I ever get it.

More recently I was trying to get out of the way of a car in our sidewalk-less neighborhood, when my backpack unzipped itself and the computer flung itself to the street. It survived with some dents, but it doesn't close all the way any more. And it now makes some sad noises from time to time.

It is also glacially slow. Reading an email message can take five minutes. Clicking back and forth between two word documents leaves you staring at the colorful spinning wheel until you practically reach a trance-like state.

I would love to buy a new computer right this minute, but I don't want to put it on a credit card, and we don't have the cash right now.

So I'm hoping all the waiting and waiting and waiting is teaching me patience.



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I knew there was another product on Amazon that had a million joking reviews!



And it's Tuscan Whole Milk. The first reads:

"After a long hard week full of days he would burst through the door, his fatigue hidden behind a smile. There was an icy jug of Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz in his right hand. With his left hand he would grip my waist - I was always cooking dinner - and press the cold frostiness of the jug against my arm as he kissed my cheek. I would jump, mostly to gratify him after a time, and smile lovingly at him. He was a good man, a wonderful husband who always brought the milk on Friday, Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz.

Then there was that Friday, the terrible Friday that would ruin every Friday for the rest of my life. The door opened, but there was no bouyant greeting - no cold jug against the back of my arm. There was no Tuscan Whole Milk in his right hand, nor his left. There came no kiss. I watched as he sat down in a kitchen chair to remove his shoes. He wore no fatigue, but also no smile. I didn't speak, but turned back to the beans I had been stirring. I stirred until most of their little shrivelled skins floated to the surface of the cloudy water. Something was wrong, but it was vague wrongness that no amount of hard thought could give shape to.

Over dinner that night I casually inserted,"What happened to the milk?"
"Oh,"he smiled sheepishly, glancing aside,"I guess I forgot today."

That was when I knew. He was tired of this life with me, tired of bringing home the Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl oz. He was probably shoveling funds into a secret bank account, looking at apartments in town, casting furtive glances at cashiers and secretaries and waitresses. That's when I knew it was over. Some time later he moved in with a cashier from the Food Mart down the street. And me? Well, I've gone soy."

And the most recent reads:
Always buy the "used" milk.
I find the used milk to be just as good as the new stuff. Who needs a sealed lid and so what if there's some missing. The chunks sift out easily too. Save money, buy used.

And you can read all of the thousand reviews of Tuscan Whole Milk, 1 Gallon, 128 fl ozover at Amazon.



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Anyone want to recommend a freelance editor?

I got an email from a relative of a friend of a relative. He's looking for someone to critique and edit his first novel, which he says is Christian fiction. He thought I mgiht be intersted, and I am so not. Plus I have no time. But because of the relationships involved, I don't want to brush him off either. I have no idea how good or bad it is.

It seems like with all the turmoil in the publishing industry, a lot of people might be up for doing something like this.

So point me their way, people! You can comment anonymously as well...



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