it's just another tequila sunrise
So, basically, my old laptop's fans gave out on it and it won't boot up and it's pretty much dead. The Geek Squad can't do anything for it and their advice is to ship it in for part replacement, but it costs ungodly sums. I have a replacement laptop, but all of the stuff that was in my old laptop is lost to me. It sucks, because the information isn't zapped or anything- the computer just won't start up without fans. This pisses me off, for I had three-fourths of one short fanfic on there along with half of another, and an intro to an original novel. And that's just to start off with. I could kill something right now. (Added to that, we are snowed in once more. Probably another two feet. I can barely see the cars outside. Joy.)
So, I will most likely be blogging a lot today. Don't mind me, but I have to fill up the monotony and boredom somehow. I spent yesterday getting snacks and entertainment stuff to keep me occupied today. What's really irritating about the weather choosing this particular time to dump heaping helping of snow on us- in bushels- is not only the fact that this is a weekend and most people don't have to go to work anyway. No, this particular weekend was to be the Chocolate Festival, in which we go into a giant house full of chocolate vendors, buy handfuls of tickets, and shamelessly indulge in everything. Now it's been rescheduled to March. I feel betrayed.
On a bright note, a poem I enjoyed reading:
383. Strawberries - Edwin Morgan
There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you
let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills
let the storm wash the plates.