And I had so much I wanted to accomplish--and hoped to be finished with by now so that I could get on with my real life.
Right after I'd completed my history post, and was working on the next feature, my Internet went out. The "online" light was out on the modem. I did the standard unplugging, waiting, reconnecting--even rebooted--nothing.
Better call my ISP. Wait--the phone is dead. Oh yeah, that's right, phone is a package deal, along with cable. If the computer's out, so is the phone.
No worries. Cell phone. "Go Phone" actually--I have no need for a monthly plan, so have a pay-as-you-go phone for needed family use only--a kid goes out he can have it to reach us--not to chat or text other kids.
Fine--where's the damn phone? Who had it last? Aw come on.
Here it is--on the bookcase. I've asked to always have it returned to the desk in the kitchen. Oh, well--my government doesn't listen to me, why should my children?
And it's dead as a damned doornail. Naturally. Uh, I don't suppose the
charger is anywhere around here?
Found it. That only took 20 minutes. Chargechargechargecharge...chargecharge...DONE!
"Emergency calls only."
Who ran it out of minutes...? And didn't tell me?
OK, time to go to the store, get a refill card.
Great--all they have is $50 cards. I'm not gonna use $50 before the minutes expire. If I wanted to use that much in a month, I'd have a damn cell plan. OK, where's the next store--oh, wait--here's some $20 cards by the register for impulse buyers.
Alright. Scratch off the back strip to reveal the PIN. Check.
Dial 1-800... Check.
Welcome to...blahblah...press "One" for English.
I do. I get Spanish. I press "One" again. It hangs up.
Dial it again. Repeat process. "One."
Hola, amigo!Third time. Nope, they are not gonna let me recharge. Wait, what's this? There's a punch-out card to take into the store so
they can refill minutes. To the service desk goes I.
Naturally, the man behind the counter knows nothing about how to do it. Leave it to corporate to implement a marketing program and not, you know, train anybody. But he pages another woman, and she also reveals she has no clue. Still, she's smart enough to use her phone to call the number and hook me up to where I can enter MY number, and the deed is done. I got phone.
Back home we go. And of course, whatever the glitch was, the modem is sitting there innocuously, like nothing ever happened, the "online" light glowing green and steady. And here I am.
In the course of my life I have literally thought I was going to die several times, where my decisions and reactions were all that stood in the way of me getting seriously, perhaps terminally, messed up. I've been blessed with the genetic predisposition to act rather than freeze. Things go slow motion. My senses are heightened. I always seem to know what to do. I claim no credit. It's nothing I've earned. It just is.
So I can pretty much handle the big picture and not go into adrenalin seizure until after the moment has passed. But the little stuff is my Achilles Heel. See, I expect certain things--I stole the golf term and call them "gimmes." These are the nits you should never need to worry about--they ought to be automatic. You know, simple take-for-granted stuff, like "shall not be infringed..."
And when they don't happen, when for want of a nail all my plans are thwarted, well,
Vol becomes very angry indeed.
I do need to work on that, because we all know life is generally a series of little things. Still, temper tantrums can be like naps--every once in a while they can be therapeutic--plus I generally get very creative in my cussing, and having the wife laugh at what I come up with usually breaks the spell and gets me laughing right back.
Now I've got some work to do. If you sent me anything to consider for posting, I might not get to it. But first I need to get something wet that I can spill all over the keyboard.
