"...And roads seem neverending." (64)
Another mild day. Sunny, and our high was 78˚F.
The morning was a fucking train wreck. First, I woke at 3:45 not well, and at 5 a.m. I gave up and got out of bed, made some coffee, ate a sandwich, was unwell some more. I began writing the fourth section of "Onieronaut Collage" and at little after 8 a.m. was almost done with that part of the story when the power blinked, just for an instant, and my iMac went down.
Now, understand. I save obsessively. Like, I save every few minutes, at most.
But as soon as the Mac went down, I realized that I'd been so ill it had interrupted my usual routine. I got it running again and every single word I'd written was gone. Just...gone.
So, I set about looking for any way I might retrieve the text, autosave, whatever. The search was complicated by the fact I'm working with a computer from 2011 whose operating system has never been updated, ever, and with a version of MS Word that's just as old. And it took me forty-five minutes, but about the tenth thing I tried worked and I got back all the text but a few lines. Which was an enormous victory.
I finished the section, which came to about 1,201 words. Huzzah. I think I'm halfway through the story. Anyway, the day did not proceed to get better after that. Also, another reason typewriters are better than computers.
Please have a look at the Big Cartel shop. Thanks.
From my Facebook this afternoon: I like to think that if someone had told me in 1989 the degree of persecution that transpeople would face in 2022, when I would be 58, not 25, well, never mind...I likely would not have believed you. But honestly, even here in Alabama, way back then there was not a tenth the hostility I see now. Forces that hardly knew we existed 33 years ago have now made a scapegoat of all transgender people.
Ignore the schmutz on that ms. page in the photo.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
5:47 a.m.
The morning was a fucking train wreck. First, I woke at 3:45 not well, and at 5 a.m. I gave up and got out of bed, made some coffee, ate a sandwich, was unwell some more. I began writing the fourth section of "Onieronaut Collage" and at little after 8 a.m. was almost done with that part of the story when the power blinked, just for an instant, and my iMac went down.
Now, understand. I save obsessively. Like, I save every few minutes, at most.
But as soon as the Mac went down, I realized that I'd been so ill it had interrupted my usual routine. I got it running again and every single word I'd written was gone. Just...gone.
So, I set about looking for any way I might retrieve the text, autosave, whatever. The search was complicated by the fact I'm working with a computer from 2011 whose operating system has never been updated, ever, and with a version of MS Word that's just as old. And it took me forty-five minutes, but about the tenth thing I tried worked and I got back all the text but a few lines. Which was an enormous victory.
I finished the section, which came to about 1,201 words. Huzzah. I think I'm halfway through the story. Anyway, the day did not proceed to get better after that. Also, another reason typewriters are better than computers.
Please have a look at the Big Cartel shop. Thanks.
From my Facebook this afternoon: I like to think that if someone had told me in 1989 the degree of persecution that transpeople would face in 2022, when I would be 58, not 25, well, never mind...I likely would not have believed you. But honestly, even here in Alabama, way back then there was not a tenth the hostility I see now. Forces that hardly knew we existed 33 years ago have now made a scapegoat of all transgender people.
Ignore the schmutz on that ms. page in the photo.
Later Tater Beans,
Aunt Beast
5:47 a.m.