Return from the Stone Age
We've spent the last eighteen days here at Casa Mathers remembering what people did before the internet.
This was not intentional.
This is what happens to people like us who fail to intuit that changing internet providers is a dance which requires a series of carefully choreographed movements. Silly us, we thought we could just cancel one and call the other and voila!
Not so. At least not when your provider is both the owner of your land-line and a major corporation with dozens of left hands who appear not to be on speaking terms with their right hands.
Well, enough said on that matter. It only goes to explain why I have been nearly three weeks longer than usual between blog entries. You might think I'd have spent all that free time writing, but you'd be wrong. I found that sitting in front of a computer which is capable of little more than word-processing is about as inspiring as sitting in front of a blank TV screen or listening to a dial tone. (How many of you remember what that sounds like?)
So here I am, dipping my toes in the water, trying to work up the nerve to jump back in, hoping that three weeks isn't the length of time it takes to run out of things to say or forget how to write altogether.
This was not intentional.
This is what happens to people like us who fail to intuit that changing internet providers is a dance which requires a series of carefully choreographed movements. Silly us, we thought we could just cancel one and call the other and voila!
Not so. At least not when your provider is both the owner of your land-line and a major corporation with dozens of left hands who appear not to be on speaking terms with their right hands.
Well, enough said on that matter. It only goes to explain why I have been nearly three weeks longer than usual between blog entries. You might think I'd have spent all that free time writing, but you'd be wrong. I found that sitting in front of a computer which is capable of little more than word-processing is about as inspiring as sitting in front of a blank TV screen or listening to a dial tone. (How many of you remember what that sounds like?)
So here I am, dipping my toes in the water, trying to work up the nerve to jump back in, hoping that three weeks isn't the length of time it takes to run out of things to say or forget how to write altogether.
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