Sometimes, it’s the smallest changes that make the biggest difference. Monday’s post is on Tuesday this week, because this particular Monday can best be summed up thusly:
I love my birthday. Like really, really love my birthday. Birthdays in general, but October 24th is all about me. Thankfully, I have progressed past the announcing of said date to random strangers (okay, I think I grew out of that when I was about five, maybe six) I do not sleep in a tiara, as the risk of poking Real Life Romance Hero in the eye is too strong, but the sentiment is basically the same. The time leading up to the actual day had some ups and downs, because the number attached to this birthday has a zero in it. We will not dwell on that, because the time machine is broken, and I can only move forward from where I am at present, the anniversary of being a one-day-old.
While I am not a medical or psychological professional, I did study early childhood education (the fact that I now make up stories and tell people who kissed on TV may let you know how good of a match that turned out to be) and I think it is safe to say that a large part of a one-day-old’s thought process is devoted to (pardon my language, gentle readers) “WTF?” There they were, minding their own business the way they’d always done, then the walls closed in and oh so much pressure, and then light and sound and touching and hey it’s cold out here and what are you doing with my cord, doctor person? Okay, there’s milk, and blankets are nice, and these other beings generally seem pleased that the new person exists, but there is a bit of a learning curve going on here. Little patience with the new kid, okay?
Today is a little like that. Since Real Life Romance Hero had to work on the 24th, we celebrated together on the 22nd, which was cold, rainy and grey. In short, my favorite weather besides snow, so bonus points for that. We had lunch together, hung out for the afternoon, and I could not have asked for a better day. Cold day, hot date, hot lunch. Perfect combination, left me feeling very loved.
This left the actual day free for celebrating with Housemate, who knew me well enough to suggest trips to two separate libraries. This is why we are friends. That, and neither of us can afford the blackmail. She also gave me the lovely lap desk in today’s picture, or, for a better shot of it without the laptop and friends in the way, this:
I’d had my eye on this one for a while, though the old lap desk still technically worked. It was a flat surface. It fit in my lap. Okay, the not-very-convincing woodgrain contact paper type of covering had begun to split and peel, the cushion had deflated, and the loop that was intended to let me carry the desk from place to place was now more of a tab. In short, long enough. Time for something new. Time for getting down to business. This one has two wrist rests. The wooden bar between them keeps pens from rolling off, and there are not one, but two places I can park my phone while making with the tappity tap.
How big a difference did this make? Pretty darned, actually. Last night, while I chatted with H, I worked on a scene. Things were going all right, though this was not coming as smoothly as I had hoped, but okay, moving forward. Typing with wrist support is a whole other experience, everything in the correct place, no need to be part Cirque de Soleil performer while keeping everything in reach. Until, that is, my jump drive blinked at me. I knew what that blinking jump drive meant. Bad stuff.
Sure enough, a couple of seconds later, the computer let me know the jump drive was corrupted. Click this handy button to fix things. That always worked before, so I did. Computer said drive was okay now. Great. Go back to document. My scene is gone. Closing in on two thousand words, gone. Not there. Big ol’ zero. I calmly inform H of this. H joins me in expression of shock and dismay. Was I sure? I was sure. Blank page, right there. Maybe being actually comfortable had something to do with it, or newfound maturity, or both, but I checked my backup, to see if I had saved an earlier version. I had.
Okay. Call up earlier version. Discover earlier version is half the size of scene I lost. Half. Inform H of this. H agrees it stinks that I lost half, but, maybe, this is for the best, and I can write it even better this time. I agreed that was probably true, but I was done for the night. I took out a new jump drive, obtained for the distinct purpose of taking over for the other one, and transferred the file in question. Then it was bedtime, because entire scenes vanishing can do a thing to a gal, especially on the first day of a year ending in zero.
So. Far over the magic seven hundred, comfy in my chair, with my lap desk, wrists fully supported, handwritten “everything I can remember about this scene” pages in place, and forward I go, a one-day-old once more. Only, this time, I have cupcakes.