Some weeks back, with no help from anyone at all, armed only with a screwdriver (the hardware kind, not the drink kind, though I could have used one of those), I installed a new graphic card in my desktop, thereby proving conclusively that I am the Chosen One. I still have to quest after the mystical enchanted ring/orb/sword, and I have to complete a few rites of passage to achieve womanhood, and somewhere along the way I expect I’ll be picking up a gang of sidekicks, but it’s only a matter of time before I am acknowledged as queen of all Middle Earth and also Narnia.
I installed my new graphics card so that Skyrim would be more playable. The name of my Skyrim character is Nicolai. Please tell me there is somebody out there who understands the joke behind that name.
Unfortunately, my laptop died right around this time. Stella 2 was my work machine, and though I had backed up all of my important files, it was still a big inconvenience to start working exclusively on my desktop. That machine didn’t have the Microsoft Office suite, and I never did find any good open-source alternatives, though I assure you I found some bad ones.
Then the desktop died.
When you have a grand total of zero functioning computers, it is impossible to apply for jobs online. It is impossible to apply for grad school. It is impossible to write the content for the database that pays you the tiny pittance of an income that you earn.
These are first-world problems. I know that. If I had any moral decency or breadth of imagination, I could step back from my problems and acknowledge, for instance, that women in the Sudan are routinely raped as spoils of war. Or I could stop and remember that I have two eyes that work. Not being blind is GREAT. I lose sight of that, sometimes, as it were.
At least one of my first-world problems was solved today, when I brought home Stella 3 and breathed life into her. Everyone may rest comfortably in knowing that about a third of my music collection has been downloaded, and the rest is in progress. I felt really horrible having my new laptop subsidized by my parents — I am a grown woman, for crying out loud — but being able to swallow one’s pride is a prerequisite of Chosen Oneness.
Moving along to more universal problems, permit me to quote in its entirety a paragraph from my post from a few weeks back, with parens and everything:
(Quick aside: per longstanding policy here at The Lesbrarian, I do not write about my personal relationships, not unless the parties involved wind up in the crime section of the local paper. Suffice it to say that I have met a gentleman. I have met him a grand total of once, but it went well. He does not live in the same town, so it is not a formal relationship, and it might never be; but if it ends in fire, explosions, assault, grand theft, or terrorism, I shall dutifully report it here — and if it doesn’t end like that, it was never a proper relationship to begin with, if you ask me.)
It used to take weeks or even months for my relationships to end. Nowadays I can jump almost immediately to the part where you’ve got the heartbreak and the recriminations and the venom, without suffering through those distracting bits in between where I enjoy the other person’s company. The aforementioned gentleman is out of the picture, without any explosions at all, which is frankly a bit of a letdown. Now it’s true that I had quite a nice date this past weekend with a new, improved gentleman — this one quite local — but, considering my finely-tuned efficiency in these matters, it’s probably safe to conclude that by now, Monday, he’s decided to never speak to me again.
If you think my cynicism is extreme, then you are not very familiar with my relationship history.
Continuing in the theme of cynicism, I can report that I am now certified to substitute teach in the local counties. Last week I took a continuing ed course through the community college, and now I have a piece of paper that says that it’s perfectly all right for me to fill in for teachers — and to get paid for it, to boot. I have to pass a background check and I have to prove that I don’t carry any dread diseases, and then I’ll probably have to wait a few months to get fully approved, but it is quite within the realm of possibility that I will be subbing before the schoolyear is out.
On the one hand, it alarms me that absolutely any adult (who passes a background check and doesn’t carry the plague) may teach children — only a day at a time, mind, but it’s still alarming. On the other hand, I suspect that I can exceed the standards. I still recall the sub who filled in for our seventh-grade English class. As we were reviewing vocabulary words, we came to one that she insisted was pronounced pro-life-rate.
I think I can do better than that.
Now then: I’ve got a logic puzzle to solve, a tuba to practice, two library books to finish reading, and a yoga pose to work. And also maybe I should apply for jobs and produce content that I’ll get paid for and spend time being grateful that I don’t live in the Sudan. And then I need to start planning for the changes we’ll see once everyone realizes I’m the Chosen One.