Thursday, October 2, 2014

Frustration Is My Name

Ask me why I hate being a crip, and I'll tell you this: it's because the cat knocked my computer on the floor this morning. 

"Oh, yeah? How are you on the internet then?"

Well, I'm using the kid's Chromebook, that's how. Thank you very much.

Back to the cat. It jumped off the dishwasher and into my lap while I was getting tea. Then when I rolled into my room, it jumped from my lap toward the stand where my MacBook Pro was sitting -- Crash! Bang! Snap!  The MacBook bounced off the hardwood floor.

  • Step one: I try to pick it up with my reacher stick. No go.
  • Step two: I call my closest neighbor, our best friends. They're out of town.
  • Step three: I think, If I can slide the Mac onto a towel, then I can use my reacher stick to lift up both ends of the towel and make a sling to pull the Mac into my lap. Good idea. Didn't work. Towel kept bundling up.
  • Step four: read the next book in my stack to be reviewed. Done about a half hour ago. 
  • Step five: reluctantly find the Chromebook and get on the Internet to complain, whine, and do a Google search for Poor, poor pitiful me ...

This is what I hate about being a crip: not being able to accomplish simple tasks that a norm-job could get done in 30-seconds.

Hate. It.

Big. Time.

But then there's this: everyone cannot do something. What I'm dealing with is simply a different set of parameters determining the scope of what I can or cannot do.

A very philosophical rationalization, don't you think?

*Addendum: if my Mac is broken from bouncing off the floor, there's a certain half-Siamese feline that better run for her life

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