Puh-Poo and Sharpened Blades

The excrement has really hit the fanblades of destiny now … I think this is a wakeup call.

The other morning I woke up at around 4AM, and couldn’t get back to sleep.  I was restless.  I tried everything.  Now I’ve made some revelations since my last post, so I haven’t been quite as antsy … and I’m almost ready to finish my backlog of updates and stuff I have lying around on my computer and really start this online experiment that I’ve been trying to do for awhile.

So I was lying in bed, thinking about why I dawdle.  I was thinking about how I don’t like to put things online because of the fact that I have been worried about censorship for the past ten years.  I haven’t wanted people to get offended.  There’s more, of course, and I’ll probably get deeper into it in some other online places … but really I’ve been watching myself.  Sometimes it’s good to watch yourself.  But really, I hold back – trying, wanting, striving … to be perfect.

Yes. Perfect. The me actually believing it can be done and is required of me.

What is perfect?  Not me, of course.  And I’ve always hated that fact – much more than the avarage person.  In a way that is very, very self destructive.

So I lay in bed that fateful morning thinking about this stuff and how I think too much and blah-blah-blah (basically thinking too much about thinking too much).  And I decided to get up and do some work.

I fired up the old gal (my inspiron 1150).  But it didn’t fire.  The network card, which is being held together by green electrical tape and is embarrassing anyway, got stuck.  The little black pushy-button-doohickey thing that you push in to pop the card out was permanently stuck way out of the computer.

I took the entire computer apart that morning.  Down to the bare innards.  I’ve seen deep down into that computer’s deep inner being.  I feel as though we truly, truly know one another.

I am now typing this entry on a brand new MacBook.  It’s white, pristine.  I feel like I’ve cashed in my long standing relationship – a ten or twenty year marriage, perhaps, for a zippier hot blonde or something.  I feel like a dirty old cheap man who has decided it’s time for a playboy bunny now that the surgeries aren’t working for his older, fifty-year-old model anymore.

Husband thinks that I anthropomorphize these things, I’m willing to bet.  But the Mac is so sleek and white that I couldn’t help but mess it up a bit with the sticker that GEB gave me (that stands for something for a reason).

He kind of unwittingly helped name my computer because some people at his job gave him some sticker from a label maker.  His other job I mean.  During some days, he is a coffee shop person, although I don’t know what you call a man-barrista …

What are you if you are a male Barista?  A Barrister?  Isn’t that a lawyer?  Why does a guy get to practice law and a chick make your coffee … who made that rule?  I’m getting all mad now, over stuff that I don’t understand.  I’d ask GEB – but then he’d probably learn that I had a blog … he’d probably learn who they sold the droids to – and that would lead him back … home {ulp!}

This post is too silly to continue.

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Puh-Poo and Sharpened Blades

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