If you’re looking for novelizing here today, you’re going to be sadly disappointed. Well, maybe not; perhaps you’re bored with the novel by now and couldn’t give a ripping flip if I post it or now. (Usually I’d say “Flying fuck”, but I’m trying to cut back on the swearing. Right.)
Actually there are a couple of good reasons why I don’t have anything for you this morning. One, the Case of the Broken “Y” Key pretty much kept that in check. I started to put down a few thoughts last night and it seemed like every third or fourth time I hit that key or the “T” it would flip or spin around, and I’d need to more the key back into place. This was not making me happy.
The new computer should be here either today or tomorrow. I just checked my FedEx tracking and it says it’s in Middletown this very AM–that’s just across the river from me–and that’s just across the river, but now the delivery date has been moved from today to tomorrow, which means I’m not certain if I’m gonna be setting up this sucker tonight or tomorrow. Yeah, let’s make it tomorrow, for that Orphan Black night, and I like a little challenge for getting the new laptop up and going before I need to write twelve hundred words worth of note for a Friday recap.
Doesn’t matter, though. I have everything backed up and ready to transfer as soon as I have the new system getting wifi and I have a browser and my writing programs ready to go. I set up my daughter’s laptop in about forty minutes when she first got it, and I’m certain I can have my new system pretty much functional in about an hour.
But most of all, if you haven’t heard, yesterday was my birthday. I had hundreds of well-wishes–really, it was in the hundreds–and I managed to get through the day rather well. After work I returned home to drop off a few things before heading out to dinner, which took place at Home 231 about two-thirds of a mile from my apartment. I had ribeye steak with a couple of great sides, and having eaten there before, I knew the food would turn out great, and it did. Everything was all fantastic.
The interesting thing is for nearly the whole of happy hour (starting at five and going until seven), it was all women at the bar. One guy sat with us for about ten minutes, but I think the estrogen was too much for him and he was like gone, daddy, gone as soon as he powered down his drink.
I even had someone buy me a glass of wine, of which that was my third, and that’s another reason I didn’t write anything. I didn’t meander back to the apartment until about eight, and by the time I was out of my work clothes I was just too burned out to want to do anything. So I didn’t, because if you’re going to create, you don’t want to set out to create a mess.
Yesterday I turned fifty-nine, and that means I have another year before I hit the Big Six-O. When I was a child sixty was pretty much the point where you lay down and got ready to die, or so it seemed. I remarked to a friend once that everyone I knew back then who was sixty seemed and looked old, and that was probably because of the era in which they lived. Today, people sixty are, like me, still working, still hanging out, still doing new things–some are even making sure they live as the person they were always meant to be.
Today is also post 1900, which means I’m one hundred away from two thousand posts in this blog. Maybe this deserves a “Duh, du DUUUUUNNNNNN!” or something like that. What it does means is that, right now that means I’ll hit post 2000 on Friday, 12 August, 2016, though I expect with rebloging a few posts here and there, it’s far more likely I’ll hit this point right around the start of August. I remember saying nine hundred posts back that I didn’t know what I was going to do with this blog when I hit the Big 2-000, and I still don’t. Part of me wants to go on, part of me wants to shut it down, part of me doesn’t have the faintest notion. I will hit that point, however, that much I know.
And after that I can start to wonder what more I can do in the future.
I’ve got the summer to figure it out, that much is certain . . .