and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping!
She's here, she's here!
I was flailing all of yesterday, and woke up early this morning -- well, drifted to a shore of semi-wakefullness -- and thought, oh dear, my computer's coming to-day! and squirmed in delight underneath the bedclothes. (And then I drifted off to sleep again off and on for a while, because it was seven in the morning.)
I read a bit, and did silly things along the lines of actually eating breakfast, and cleared up my desk (again), and had my earbuds in, jum[ping up to look out the window every time I heard anything that sounded remotely like a truck, wondering when in the window of our local UPS delivery time my parcel would actually be delivered -- any time between about ten and two, I believe, which doesn't narrow things down nearly enough for a neurotic, desperately eager girl who has been waiting five years or more for this moment. (I don't know when I consciously thought, I want my own computer; when we got our first, half my life ago, I was nine, and pleased enough about actually having one, and there wasn't nearly so much battle to be on it, nor things I needed to do alone, or files of mine that take up massive amounts of space...)
Anyway, Dad came in to tell me he was going to work, which was a little odd, because usually he just shouts up the stairs to anyone who doesn't happen to be by the door when he's leaving (I mean, he does it nearly every day), and I took off my earbuds, and he asked if I had anything exciting planned for today. "Oh, well, my computer's supposed to come today, so I'll be... doing that, mostly," I said. I seem to remember following him downstairs, for some reason. "I checked the UPS tracking, and it's in the truck for delivery right now."
Dad said, "I don't think it's in the truck." By this time we'd reached the bottom of the stairs.
I was about to think, or say, furiously, why is everyone so pessimistic? (I've been warned several times by several people "oh, don't get your hopes up, it could be delayed, it mightn't necessarily come on Monday even though UPS says it will", and I've just been kind of like "...okay, and? Thank you for your dose of cynicism, go away!") But Mum, sitting on the couch, was smirking, and -- I think there must have been something else that cued me in? I don't even remember now. Someone may have even said, "Go look on the dining room table," which was really superlative advice, because sitting in the middle of it was a very large box.
Well, you can probably guess what that led to. (A lot of it was my mother cackling wickedly, and telling me that it had come over an hour ago, and she was sure I would have heard the doorbell and come running, but I hadn't, and she was waiting to see how long it took... *facepalm*)
So I've got her, and oh, she's ever so lovely, and I have already watched an entire film (The Illusionist) on her mostly by accident -- I meant to test the DVD player and how well things looked on the screen and forgot to, um, stop? -- and the contents of my iPod are nearly finished transferring to my roomy new hard-drive, and oh dear. I still don't quite believe that I have a laptop at all. I love the keyboard: it has a very nice firmnes; the screen is so glossy and bright and clear and sharp and not broken; everything works so quickly (well, I did pay for 3GB of RAM) and smoothly; and her dark blue glossy lid and black glossy insides are immensely pleasing to the senses. I am happy and I love her. She's elegant and sophisticated and altogether brilliant.
Her name, by the by, is Yvaine. I didn't mean to, but about two or three days before she arrived, it came to me and wouldn't go away, so that is her name, and it does suit now that I've seen her. Her rich dark blue colour may have a bit to do with it -- it isn't far from the shade of film!Yvaine's lovely blue dress -- and it's pretty and Gaimany and, well. A toast to Yvaine!
I was flailing all of yesterday, and woke up early this morning -- well, drifted to a shore of semi-wakefullness -- and thought, oh dear, my computer's coming to-day! and squirmed in delight underneath the bedclothes. (And then I drifted off to sleep again off and on for a while, because it was seven in the morning.)
I read a bit, and did silly things along the lines of actually eating breakfast, and cleared up my desk (again), and had my earbuds in, jum[ping up to look out the window every time I heard anything that sounded remotely like a truck, wondering when in the window of our local UPS delivery time my parcel would actually be delivered -- any time between about ten and two, I believe, which doesn't narrow things down nearly enough for a neurotic, desperately eager girl who has been waiting five years or more for this moment. (I don't know when I consciously thought, I want my own computer; when we got our first, half my life ago, I was nine, and pleased enough about actually having one, and there wasn't nearly so much battle to be on it, nor things I needed to do alone, or files of mine that take up massive amounts of space...)
Anyway, Dad came in to tell me he was going to work, which was a little odd, because usually he just shouts up the stairs to anyone who doesn't happen to be by the door when he's leaving (I mean, he does it nearly every day), and I took off my earbuds, and he asked if I had anything exciting planned for today. "Oh, well, my computer's supposed to come today, so I'll be... doing that, mostly," I said. I seem to remember following him downstairs, for some reason. "I checked the UPS tracking, and it's in the truck for delivery right now."
Dad said, "I don't think it's in the truck." By this time we'd reached the bottom of the stairs.
I was about to think, or say, furiously, why is everyone so pessimistic? (I've been warned several times by several people "oh, don't get your hopes up, it could be delayed, it mightn't necessarily come on Monday even though UPS says it will", and I've just been kind of like "...okay, and? Thank you for your dose of cynicism, go away!") But Mum, sitting on the couch, was smirking, and -- I think there must have been something else that cued me in? I don't even remember now. Someone may have even said, "Go look on the dining room table," which was really superlative advice, because sitting in the middle of it was a very large box.
Well, you can probably guess what that led to. (A lot of it was my mother cackling wickedly, and telling me that it had come over an hour ago, and she was sure I would have heard the doorbell and come running, but I hadn't, and she was waiting to see how long it took... *facepalm*)
So I've got her, and oh, she's ever so lovely, and I have already watched an entire film (The Illusionist) on her mostly by accident -- I meant to test the DVD player and how well things looked on the screen and forgot to, um, stop? -- and the contents of my iPod are nearly finished transferring to my roomy new hard-drive, and oh dear. I still don't quite believe that I have a laptop at all. I love the keyboard: it has a very nice firmnes; the screen is so glossy and bright and clear and sharp and not broken; everything works so quickly (well, I did pay for 3GB of RAM) and smoothly; and her dark blue glossy lid and black glossy insides are immensely pleasing to the senses. I am happy and I love her. She's elegant and sophisticated and altogether brilliant.
Her name, by the by, is Yvaine. I didn't mean to, but about two or three days before she arrived, it came to me and wouldn't go away, so that is her name, and it does suit now that I've seen her. Her rich dark blue colour may have a bit to do with it -- it isn't far from the shade of film!Yvaine's lovely blue dress -- and it's pretty and Gaimany and, well. A toast to Yvaine!