I have been having computer problems for the last two weeks. I won't bore you with the details except to say that it is fixed now, I think.
We all love technology except when it doesn't do what it's supposed to, and the more entangled we become the quicker life can spin out of control when technology fails. I wonder, sometimes, why I put up with it, why I don't just buy myself an old IBM Selectric and go back to typing my words instead of processing them. Are processed words healthier than processed foods? Are they smoother or more telling than words that are typed? Can you still buy correction tape?
Okay, I admit that's not going to happen. I love my Mac and I love being able to correct and revise and remove unwanted text, all without having to retype a page—or kill a tree. But still, I depend too much on technology.
Without the computer I found I had large blocks of time unaccounted for. I went to the library and brought home two books, and when I wasn't pacing and wringing my hands and cursing a certain company, I sat in the living room and read. The first book, a vacation-time thriller, was finished in less than 24 hours. The second, a "literary achievement," is taking longer. The writing style is spare and interesting, and I find myself studying sentence composition instead of focusing on the story.
Having all this time was a little like being on vacation, but with dramatic interludes of cursing, explaining, repeating the explaining, and waiting for call-backs from our Internet service provider. Time stretched, then shrunk, then tied itself in a knot. And suddenly all is well—I think—and after all that it was me who solved the problem.
And now it's almost Thanksgiving.
I have a lot to be thankful for this year, as every year. I try not to limit my gratitude to one day in 365, but like all good intentions that one often slips away. So I welcome the season, and the day; for despite frustrations and setbacks, I've had a marvelous year. I hope you have too.