Why I Haven’t Been Writing and a Thought or Two Comparing Computers and Romance

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you probably have guessed that I stopped writing because I finally decided to respect your time.  Well, that guess is wrong.  Very wrong!

 

The truth is — and if any young children are reading this post, now might be a good time to go back to your Pokemon cards — because the truth is this:  I cannot handle the pain!

 

It is a punishing pain, an inescapable frustration — a crushing frustration– a deep soul crushing frustration…indeed a punishing crushing frustration!  A real pain in the ass.

 

What I mean really is this, writing on a goddamn Dell Studio 1735 laptop computer is a punishing pain.  And I’m sure Microsoft has some blame here, so perhaps I am after the wrong burden.  Either way, I quit my computer and started eating sandwiches instead.

 

Look, I’m not a fool.  I’m a wise guy.  Computer technology is something like romantic love…which is to say it is a lie, a cruel joke played on adolescents and the naive.  In short, computers are not supposed to work.

 

A Dell Studio 1535 laptop computer (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Not unlike romance, however, a working computer is more process than stability.  It is a relative thing, something like being only slightly less frustrated than the unhappy couple cutting each other’s throats down the block.  I know that.  So I came back.

(Here I am, little blog…)

 

But like dealing with a crazy bitch, there comes the time to cut away and now might be time for techno change, time to say goodbye.  You see, unlike romance, a computer should be more than mere folly.  Unlike a romantic lark, my Dell Studio and its Vista soul never has — and never will — offer any happiness!  (There’s no future in that, kids.  None.)  Pah!  It gets worse.  My Dell isn’t even naughty!  Try streaming a video late at night.  Forget it…it is not happening here.

 

This computer — if that’s what this is — should have been toxic waste in a landfill before its lid was ever lifted to the light of day.  It started badly, it is ending worse.  This computer is nothing more than a cruel hoax, nothing less than a betrayed promise…

 

Not me, but my feelings exactly.

But wait…maybe I have gone too far.  There is a positive side effect.  Trying to work on a computer like this puts people — real people — in perspective.  Suddenly I like people.  I like them a lot.  I talk to them now.   And sometimes I even listen to them.

 

But there’s a limit to all of that goodness.  I cannot write and research on the stomach of some slob sitting next to me at the bar.  I can’t do that.  I don’t want to do that.  As a computer, people have limits.  They can go only so far, only offer so much…

 

And so then I am alone again, recklessly starting paragraphs and sentences with conjunctions whenever I am not staring at some green spinning Vista ring on a faded computer screen waiting for something to happen.  Mindless waiting, pointless waiting, and not having much hope any of it it will ever be worth anything.  (Yes, computers indeed are like the women I love.)

 

So that’s where I have been, kids.  I have been AWOL, tripping about in a dark techno perdition that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone…other than, perhaps, the women I love.  (It is that bad.  Really.  But now look…I am back!)

 

And with that…I am done, with this post at least!  And finished it within 30 minutes, approximately the maximum stretch my computer gives before a needed reboot.

 

So, now that I have that off my chest.  Who’s up for reading the dictionary with me?

 

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• MacBook Pro declared ‘best performing’ Windows laptop (news.cnet.com)
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• Frustration and Anxiety (voxboxx.wordpress.com)

Quick Notes on a Dream [Draft]

I have been dreaming far too richly.  Dense, substantial dreams.  Thoughtful dreams that feel like I really am going to a different place in my experience.  The past maybe.

Do I look like a man upon whom time has taken a toll?   No, I think it is only a slight attack of time that has me.  Time and memory.  These comforting dreams of which I write, with their strange, gentle sadness, seem too close to me now.  That’s all.

And I think I am figuring it out.

These dreams stand out because they utterly lack frustration.  They are emptied of any worry.  And I dream that I am entirely present and seen.  The dreams make sense maybe because I want them to make sense.  The melancholy is a welcome refuge.  Calm.

That is quite unlike my real attachments, which feel distance and receding.  The more I try to recapture them, the further they abandon me.

I have been caught in a trap, caught in this almost surreal frustration which I cannot square with my experience.  I want to fix things and reason with irrationality.  But I can’t.  It isn’t my problem to correct.  The dreams, on the other hand, feel as if they answer that frustration.  Or at least they give me an opportunity to see an answer.

When something really matters, it is difficult to let a mistake go unanswered.  But often pushing to correct a mistake hides that mistake.  The pushing becomes the issue.  Stubbornness doesn’t help.  That won’t turn back the clock.  There is only going forward.

Perhaps two paths that have separated will meet again.  And perhaps while along that path the mistake will expose itself and be corrected.

Where there is time, there is hope.  And in time I might be seen and understood.  My dreams might catch up and meet me here again.  I am still here.

 

“Each of us had a dream the same night, and each dream had a meaning of its own.” — Genesis

Related articles

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You’re a Shining Star No Matter Who You Are…

Sales offers many existential moments. 

I spent a good part of tonight’s opportunity to live trying to load orders onto a laptop computer I use for processing sales.  My efforts began as the weather forecast was wrapping up on the 10:00 news and I finally got an order properly loaded just in time for Craig Ferguson‘s monologue.  A mere 75 minutes. (!)  But an important 75 minutes. (?)

Shattering, disruptive frustration.  That’s what it was.  And as I lost my place in the rational world, it became apparent that there might be something good about being so stupidly frustrated. 

Utter frustration can be an effective way to experience context.  It allows you to put things in order…as long as you can maintain a rational voice of reason.  Perhaps that’s the difference between the relatively sane and the relatively insane.  That voice of reason.

A meltdown is like throwing all the living room furniture out into the front yard, followed by the boxes of junk and other things cluttering your space, and then taking a good look.  It is all out there haphazard and exposed and it is still yours.  And here’s your opportunity.  You bring it all back piece by piece in nice little orderly steps.  All is good again.  Order restored.

Not My Stuff.

So while my left arm was going numb and my head was throbbing that’s what I determined I would do…clean up the mess I had made.

I thought:  What is this?  If this kills me, will it be worth it?  Hell no.  The little absurdity I was experiencing had eaten up over an hour  — significant for sure — but not worth going mad over.  Time to bring the furniture back in!  (It was something of a funny sight anyway and the neighbors might talk.)

Otherwise he might lose his mind!

(Thank god I’m still sane.)  I just hope god (or whomever) has a good sense of humor and patience to match.  Eventually we all go over to the other side…you know that, right?  Until then allow yourself to keep the things in perspective. 

Shine, shining star!