Okay. I'm tired of being sick. (I'm also tired of being broken and older than I was and in debt and less than brilliant on a daily basis, and, and, and...)
That being said, I have to get working again at the normal stuff. Garbage must be gathered and put out. Laundry must be washed. I must get out of these jammies and dress like real people again.
I live alone. I don't have the luxury of being extended sick. We singletons have to be hardier souls, much tougher than the coupled masses. There's no one to pick up our slack when we falter. Besides, maybe by acting like I'm better I can distract myself until I am better.
So, it's real clothes and actual shoes for me. A small excursion into the now quite pleasant temperatures outdoors seems in order. After I toss a load in the washer, I'll venture forth in a quick trip to the pharmacy for med refills and tissues, then a drive through for a no cook dinner.
After all that, tonight's big job is to get my writing off the sinking site. I'd hate to lose it all over the machine issues I'm currently having.
My tablet has no USB port and I don't think it can store fifteen years' worth of journal. My desktop, which I haven't really used much since I got my tablet, refuses to boot after many attempts. I can't download from my perfectly capable work computer because the old site is considered social media and therefore completely blocked by the school's network.
I do have a very old laptop in the pantry that I'm going to try to resurrect tonight. If that works - great. I'll put my written life on a flash drive and decide what to do with it later.
If the laptop doesn't work, dang, I'm going to have to resort to desperate measures and ask Nathe to allow me to use his computer. Big mischief there though. What should be a simple request by me to take fifteen or thirty minutes time on his computer and be finished, will turn into a project he wants to help me with, will suggest / command he has better ways to accomplish and not relent in his "friendly assistance" until he makes me do things I really don't want to do and there are hard feelings both ways.
And he will feel righteously aggrieved because he was just trying to help and I'm just too damn stupid, rude, and arrogantly independent to be fit for civilized society.
I will feel both bullied and paranoid, because now Nathe will not only have seen my diary, he will have its / my name. He's a good internet search puppy. With my name, which I don't want to change at this transitional stage, he could find me and follow me easily.
It sounds paranoid, yes, but he has the time, the know how and the interest. Nathe would seek out and read my journal in a heartbeat, without an ethical or compassionate qualm, because, he'd reason, reading my journal wouldn't hurt anything. He might even decide it's a twisted sort of big brotherly protective thing. I know the way he thinks sometimes. There is nothing wrong Nathe does that he cannot twist around into being the very most rational thing to do. Then, when anyone calls him on anything he's done, these wrongs he's translated into personal righteousnesses, he can become the victim of other people's stupidity and narrow-mindedness. I've watched this drama play out way too many times not to know the way he plays the game.
Also, in my favour arguing against the label of paranoid in this journal-peeking fear, you have to remember, I've had family read my most private thoughts "for my own good" once before. (At least once, that I know of.)
Caroline found my journal and began reading it without my knowing way back. I might never have found out if my writing hadn't gotten exciting when I was attacked at work. Then Caroline, who was now, of course, reading me for my own good, had a dilemma - how can one lurk and spy but then use the info she's gleaned without getting caught out.
She was clever. I remember the machinations she went through trying to get me to mention the attack without her bringing it up, but I was better at keeping my mouth shut than my journal and she finally had to confess she'd been where she knew I absolutely did not want her. It made a very stressful time even more stressful. I'd been physically attacked at work, gone to the only place I felt comfortable talking about it to try and heal myself and she nearly poisoned that well for me too.
So, maybe a little paranoia, but probably more simple awareness of the ways of my family and their completely inappropriate concept of privacy -
All of which makes me hope that my old laptop fires up this evening without trouble.
The clock on the other site is ticking.
Loading comments...