Moving, Computer Problems and Spider Bites
There have been successes. At work (no, not FilmJabber, but real work), I helped launch a new product and get a partnership off the ground. But the weeks leading up to it were busy. Real busy. I’m not complaining, as I love being behind on things because by being behind, I have no excuses to waste time or tinker around on the Internet. I put my head down and that’s that. At the same time, I don’t come up for air, and I just keep pushing, pushing and pushing some more.
Thank God my home computer – the computer I source my movie reviews, movie updates and everything FilmJabber related from – decided to go whacko on me months ago. Thank you, Lord, for giving man the knowledge of the computer and Internets, because only you know what animalistic monsters we would be without them. Thank you for creating devices that can work seamlessly for years and then decide one day to roll that big fat middle finger out and give their own the big “FU.” Hell, couldn’t mine have at least lasted a year?
For the record, I’m pretty good with computers, or at least I used to be. I can install my own parts and knew more than I should have about computers growing up thanks to a short-lived obsession with video games. Since I was little, I’ve never had serious computer issues. In fact, while my friends have pulled their hair out – and subsequently forced me to do the same as they turned to me for help – as their computers coughed, sputtered and clawed their way to destruction, my computers have always worked well. My latest, purchased and assembled only last year, continued that trend… until the beginning of the summer, when Vista or the hardware or something decided that karma had to come back around.
After months of on-and-off again problems that neither I nor my techie roommate could figure out, I finally gave in and made a deal with the devil: I decided to pay to get it fixed. Specifically, I took it into a store to get the battery checked. That turned into preliminary diagnostics, and then paid diagnostics. Paid diagnostics! Money! Crap. But slow down there, partner. You pay, they at least find the problem, right? Right! Wrong, biotch!
The tech guy spends two days “attempting” to find the problem, but his testing pretty much involves running a DVD and waiting for it to crash. He doesn’t see anything wrong, he tells me. Yes, I bet you do, you snarky bastard. The guy laughs about it and makes me sound like I’m some desperate idiot, and ignores my best efforts to explain that the guy who looked at initially was able to make the computer crash repeatedly within the first few minutes of looking at. Sixty dollars later and my computer is no more fixed, I’m pissed off and…
Oh, and I’m moving! In a rash decision, my roommate and I decide to upgrade apartments and move all our crap 15 miles from Bellevue to Seattle, Washington. The moving is pretty seamless, other than it taking longer than expected and us not being able to fit everything into the truck. Once all is said and done, and our friends are sitting in our apartment waiting to have some much deserved food, my roommate and I go to take the Uhaul back. The Uhaul dude, who clearly has nothing better to do than to waste our time, tells us that our attempts to refill the gas tank to its previous level was not good enough, and he sends us back out on the road to our second gas station in ten minutes. Son of a bitch.
To make matters worse, the next day, I wake up with a big, four-inch bite across my ribs and some pain to go with it. Over the course of the day, a headache develops, then a fever. By nighttime, my body aches all over, and by the time I climb into bed to sleep it off, I’m burning up real good and shaking like a supermodel in a hurricane, only a lot less pretty. When I wake up Tuesday morning, Peter Parker transformed I am not, but my alleged spider bite has spread, so now parts of my chest are pink and hard, but not in the muscular kind of way.
The brown recluse, some coworkers suggest, even though the brown recluse isn’t much around these parts. A tick, my mommy chimes in. Lyme disease, she warns, to look out for. I know it’s neither, but I go to the doctor anyway. By end of the week, things are fading, but the doctor, who barely looks at the bite and doesn’t have much of a clue about what attacked me, throws some antibiotics at it and sends me on my way.
Now I’m here, sitting on my floor because I don’t yet have a desk, watching Cool Hand Luke on my laptop while I lean uncomfortably against my bed frame to work on this desktop computer that could crash at anytime, writing this blog post to tell everything that I’ve returned and should pick up the pace with this movie blog. You can now rejoice and hold hands and hug and send praise, because the one true blog is back in action.
That is, at least, until I go to Cancun in two weeks.