I am experiencing an on-going annoyance known as Real Life; those of you who have been using the internet for a while will recognize that chilling phrase all too well.
Real Life is what happens when you turn the computer off. It hardly ever features smut, or friends lists, or kindness to strangers. Real Life is a place where people play Minesweeper or Solitaire when they're bored at work. Real Life is where people spend more time watching television (or, hell, for that matter, sleeping) than they do in front of the computer thingie that they still vaguely fear. Real Life is where people pay for their porn. In other words, Real Life is filled with people so different from us that they're probably a new species.
When Real Life people go on vacation, they don't bring their computers. And they're happy about that; they don't miss them at all.
The rest of us, though, and I am of course included in that 'us,' don't go on vacation; they go on often-mandatory, painful computer deprivation adventures. In fact, they even sort of dread leaving the house, because you never know what people are going to post while you're working or buying groceries.
I am an internet person. But RL has come for me, smacked me around, made me lick its feet, made me apologize for thinking I could ever escape from it. In other words, thanks to the World's Most Evil Plumbing, I have once again packed up and moved away from my beloved computer. I'll be able to check my LJ mail and my deepbluesea at postmark dot net address, but I won't be able to spend any time browsing my flist. So please, if you post something interesting or hear about a new story I need to read, email me. I will love you forever.
Because, dammit, I could use a distraction or two from my endless internal litany of Things That Have Broken in the Last Three Weeks(air conditioner, garage door, garage electricity, washing machine, plumbing, including main line and sewer line, both of which will need to be replaced, which means we will soon have neither a garden nor a driveway. I won't even go into the allergy-related madness that impelled us to pull up two carpets and refinish the last of our hardwood floors).
So updates will be extremely sporadic for roughly the next two weeks - basically until we can, with luck, once again return to our house. I miss you all more than I can say; also, my fingers are veritably burning with sets longing to be rec'd. But, until the happy day when our house is ours once more, I will check in as often as I can, waving jealously at you in your freedom to roam this land we love. (Jesus I wish I still had a laptop.)
And so gloom descends on thefouthvine, followed closely by self-pity, whining, and random bouts of crying.
(Hmm. Sounds we've got a superhero team on our hands! I want to be gloom. Do I hear a volunteer for self-loathing, cynicism, self-pity, one-up-manship, or schadenfreude? Let's get this team working, folks! We won't even have to fight baddies; they'll run after they take one look at us - Gothic Open Mic Reader Girl, Lady Who Explains Revolting Personal Problems in Detail and with Pictures, Laughing at Everyone Else's Misery Man, and, of course, The Whiner, whose voice has been known to cause seizures in the weak and sensitive. )