Paradise comes at a price I'm not prepared to pay.
So, I finally took the shrink's advice. I packed a bag, loaded up my dog, and took a vacation. I own a little flat in Venice, which has been terribly neglected these past three years. I spent the first two days dusting everything, and then trying to find a place to hook up the god damn devil-box that Jones forced on me.
What is the devil-box, you ask? Some "state of the art" sattelite multi-media notebook by Toshiba. So Jones keeps drilling into me. It is, at first glance, a rather cute little device. Small, silver, and seemingly harmless upon my antique desk. Do no let its appearance decieve you. This machine is plotting a hostile takeover, starting with my free time.
My first fifteen minutes of "me time" I had alotted was spent trying to figure out how to turn the damn thing on. Victorious, I slumped back in my chair, prepared to cruise across cyberspace and tap a few lines out on this blog. So confident in my mechanical savvy was I that the sudden appearance of white box upon my screen nearly caused me to fall out of my chair.
It was asking for a password. Now, on my home computer, there is no password. I just press the goddamn button and the evil son of bitch sputters and comes to life.
This was a terrible shock.
I sure as hell didn't set one up. Which means that rat-bastard did it to spite me. For another two hours, I try everything I can to get past this unwarranted blockade. And, another thirty minutes later, called Jones in utter defeat.
Jones: "Hi there, sexy. Miss me already?"
Me: "How the fuck do I override this password?"
Jones, inordinately amused: "What password? There isn't one set up. Just leave the line blank and click okay."
I promptly hung-up on him, so I wouldn't have to listen to him laugh at my misfortune. That completed, I relished in the fact that I would no longer have to struggle, I could check my email, and go to bed.
Again, this was not to be.
The wireless r-word thingie was not connecting. Foiled again.
So angry was I that shooting the fucking thing seemed like a wonderful idea. But Jones would only shell out another three-grand to buy me a new one. Gah. Men.
This is why I have not responded or written in months.
Just yesterday I caved and came out of my hermitude long enough to call a specialist in to fix everything.
But, it has taken my mind off my sister, work, and my overall usual slate of problems.
Bully for me.
Now, if you'll excuse me, Xavier needs a walk.
What is the devil-box, you ask? Some "state of the art" sattelite multi-media notebook by Toshiba. So Jones keeps drilling into me. It is, at first glance, a rather cute little device. Small, silver, and seemingly harmless upon my antique desk. Do no let its appearance decieve you. This machine is plotting a hostile takeover, starting with my free time.
My first fifteen minutes of "me time" I had alotted was spent trying to figure out how to turn the damn thing on. Victorious, I slumped back in my chair, prepared to cruise across cyberspace and tap a few lines out on this blog. So confident in my mechanical savvy was I that the sudden appearance of white box upon my screen nearly caused me to fall out of my chair.
It was asking for a password. Now, on my home computer, there is no password. I just press the goddamn button and the evil son of bitch sputters and comes to life.
This was a terrible shock.
I sure as hell didn't set one up. Which means that rat-bastard did it to spite me. For another two hours, I try everything I can to get past this unwarranted blockade. And, another thirty minutes later, called Jones in utter defeat.
Jones: "Hi there, sexy. Miss me already?"
Me: "How the fuck do I override this password?"
Jones, inordinately amused: "What password? There isn't one set up. Just leave the line blank and click okay."
I promptly hung-up on him, so I wouldn't have to listen to him laugh at my misfortune. That completed, I relished in the fact that I would no longer have to struggle, I could check my email, and go to bed.
Again, this was not to be.
The wireless r-word thingie was not connecting. Foiled again.
So angry was I that shooting the fucking thing seemed like a wonderful idea. But Jones would only shell out another three-grand to buy me a new one. Gah. Men.
This is why I have not responded or written in months.
Just yesterday I caved and came out of my hermitude long enough to call a specialist in to fix everything.
But, it has taken my mind off my sister, work, and my overall usual slate of problems.
Bully for me.
Now, if you'll excuse me, Xavier needs a walk.