Last time I blogged about the universe farting in my face, commenter extraordinaire Sherri mentioned that I was begging for more. I mean, she’s read The Secret. I just read some blog posts by people who read it and then made fun of them, you know?
I’m not the informed person here.
Well, guess what? The cosmic force that propels The Secret - a coalition of goddesses or Allah or Bill Cosby or something - is real.
Because what happened last Thursday and Friday? I started feeling sick.
I got super medicated and slept all weekend and felt better. Everything seemed fine.
Then what happened last night?
I sat at my computer to go about my business, and the computer was frozen. If you’re a Mac user, I just need to say one thing: Beachball of Death. You dig?
The Beachball of Death was spinning gaily on my desktop, which had already been converted to a syphilitic beach in hell. And with such a great desktop background and everything!
Oh, and I should tell you that my iPhone charger had died days earlier, so I could only charge it through the USB of my desktop computer, which was now possessed by Satan.
iPhone batteries are notorious for draining significantly anytime you even look at them, so I was in the red zone when I called my dad.
The conversation went something like this: “ARGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH! Ican’ttalklong,becausemycomputerisdead! Andmyphoneisdying! WHYYYYYYYYY MEEEEEEEEEE?!”‘
I texted Cade to ask him when the Upper West Side Apple Store closed. He texted me to let me know that the hours were posted online.
Really?! Apple posts information on the Internet? Next time my computer’s not compromised, I’ll try to remember that.
I texted gruffly that I couldn’t look it up, as my computer was dead. I wanted to add, “And yours can be, too! Help me or else!” but I thought that might use up too much battery life.
Cade told me to go to the 24-hour Apple Store on Fifth Avenue. Once there, a Mac genius - or whatever they call themselves - helped me spend a lot of money in about 10 minutes. I didn’t even have to scream at anyone.
But the story’s not over.
Now I have to figure out how to get my life off one dead computer (did I mention it’s possessed by Satan and apparently thinks healthcare is a privilege, not a right?) and onto my new MacBook.
Wait. The Secret. I totally forgot to mention to the powers-that-be, which are really not that secret, that I’m not complaining Not at all!
I’m sure that all this struggle and freaking out and wanting to punch myself in the face is part of the journey to greener pastures.
And I know that it won’t be long before my computer situation is just peachy, and everything works better than before.
I’ll make mad cash to replace all that I just dropped on this new computer set-up.
I’ll take pictures in fun places with people I love.
I won’t have the sniffles.
And there will be a smart, inspiring, funny, attractive guy who will hold me and make things at least seem a little easier. And be fun to blog about and good at talking about books and…
But I could handle four out of five.
