Is there a support group for people who compulsively check the tracking number on their shipments?
If there IS one, I think I need to join.
In fact, I'll bring the coffee and donuts.
When you live as far into the boonies as we do, it is always a source of amazement that anything actually FINDS its way to us. But thanks to the friendly people in the brown trucks, we are still connected to the big wide world.
The new computer, according to the tracking information...
(That she has checked at least 50 times in the last two days)
Hey, that's a slight exaggeration.
(Very well, 39 times. Which is still excessive, in anyone's book.)
As I was saying, according to the freakishly amazing tracking information, my computer is 'out for delivery'. Which means my trusty UPS guy is somewhere in the valley, lumbering up this and that dirt road, delivering these and those packages to my friends and neighbors.
But I doubt very much if there are any other iMacs on his truck today.
To keep myself from taking Suzie Cube out in SEARCH of the UPS guy, I have been reading up and watching YouTube videos on the new Apple OS called 'El Capitan' after that big rock in Yosemite National Park. I'm not sure I'm going to be friends with the Captain. And more worrisome is the fact that there will also be a new version of iPhoto, which is now just called 'Photos'. [ You would think a company as big as Apple Inc. would have, you know, people who come up with catchy names for things. Evidently, that department is experiencing a hiring freeze or something.] And as a person who takes photos virtually EVERY DAY OF MY LIFE!.... this is more than a slight cause for concern.
I will admit to you that I am here writing this blog post as a form of self therapy to try to quell my anxiety about setting up a new computer. With the added goal of distracting myself from the knowledge that I have, yet again, come smack up against the digital version of an old fashioned, shattered plank gripping, salt water in your eyes, sand in your pockets, shipwreck.
There were things on my old computer that I cannot retrieve. This just reminds me of all the other times when my virtual world was ransacked and I was sent on my digital way mollified only by the promise of a newer, shinier, faster, sexier, more gigabyte toting, interface.
Having 'been there' for the dawn of the PC my friends, I have seen it all... but have to admit, that my Luddite has slowly but surely fallen head over heels in love with technology. This does not however make me unaware of its pitfalls and foibles, this latest betrayal being a glaring example.
At least I was able to salvage a large proportion of my digital belongings this time, and like Robinson Crusoe, I have drug it up on unknown shores ready to build a new virtual dwelling.
But construction cannot commence until the man in the brown truck arrives with my shiny, new, bloated with gigabytes iMac.
So I'm toasting waterlogged marshmallows over the signal fire, scanning the horizon for rescue in the form of a delivery van.
(Please stop. I cannot endure another soggy metaphor. I mean it. That's enough.)
Okay, I'll stop.
Perhaps I'll go talk to the hens. They don't have pixels. Only feathers. And are not prone to digital mayhen.
(You KNOW I can't allow you to misspell like that without comment...)
It's called 'poetic license you dimwit.
Try to keep up.
