0245 to 1115


What do you do when your service provider goes down in the wee hours of the morning?

I play a game or two on the computer where

Hey Kid! The First One’s Free!

I futz around in my Excel budget file and look at how much money I don’t have and how it has to be spent. I check the connection again.

I play another game or so and get aggravated that I don’t win as often as I’d like.

Then I check the connection again.

I curse Comcast, realizing in hindsight that it’s too late. They are already cursed.

I walk outside and smoke a cigarette because I can’t smoke inside. Adultery is permitted. Smoking is not. I wouldn’t commit adultery—I’m just saying . . . ya know?

Sure you do. I think you’re with me so far. Right? Say “Right.” Humor me, please. I’m in a fragile state at the moment. Thanks.

I contemplate committing adultery, and I contemplate introducing my modem to my cane.  I do neither, because while all things are permitted, not all things are profitable.  Sure.  That’s the reason.

I check what I have written wrote so far and correct for passive voice.

Then I check the connection. I notice an oncoming headache, and preemptively strike with a Tylenol.

I wonder just how bored I am to write such drivel? I start looking at the clock more often? 0430? Good Lord!

I go for another smoke and hope to see Popeye by the door. Who’s “Popeye?” Guess.

Before I go outside to poison myself, I pause to check the connection. CRAP!

Thinking that perhaps my provider is just shy and is waiting for me to leave the room to turn itself back on, I immediately check it upon returning from my smoke. Nope.

I reset the modem for the fourth time. With extreme and express ennui, I watch the modem lights blink until they become steady—still nothing . . .

I practice my diction and spitball big words without a hard-copy dictionary as a safety net. Why?


Did I take that Tylenol? I’ll be right back. O.K. Thanks for waiting. I think I’ll pay a visit to the Crazed Writer’s Room and lie down for a moment or two . . . or three . . .. (But consecutively not concurrently) Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll give you a topic.

The InterNET is not a real net.


0600.  The recording promised 0600. It’s 0601. Still nothing and I am wondering how much longer I can justify this article and how the hell I’m going to end it.

Like this is as good and true as any.

Thanks for listening to my early morning rambles.



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