Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

September 14, 2004

Lightning Strikes (the high point)

Even as I was writing my last entry, as if in slow motion, a thick glass of beer was spilled onto Blaine's laptop; it was turned over, dripping; it was disassembled and remains in pieces about our house, in cupboards and closets where the cat can't get at it. My computer has been acting as a surrogate body to Blaine's hard drive ever since, god damn it.

I've toyed with using community computer labs, but I prefer my home environment; it takes me a good long while to feel friendly enough towards any machine to write on it. I've managed to send out another resume into the ether, however, and am trying to figure out how to make our Mac SE talk to the world, seventeen years after it was born.

But if there is one, an early fall is the best possible time to be fundamentally unemployed. The rain, the peripheral feeling of summer still on our backs, the shock of falling leaves. Usually, in Vancouver, the winds come first; the air gets moody for several weeks, before blacker weather begins. This year the fall came without warning just as this second bout of baselessness has for me, and the benefit? As all dry-leaf-walkers know, the gift of extra time to think.

I'm in Seattle for the week, and this computer is a friend's; for a blind date, it's going well.

Posted by Delire at September 14, 2004 04:23 PM
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