I’m waiting. It’s all quiet. I can hear my heart beat. It’s beating faster and faster. My daughter is at school, my son is at the kindergarten, and my wife is at work. And me, I’m suppose to be working at home.
I’m staring at the screen, the white space that used to be my blog. I have a New York Yankees hat on my head, just in case I’ll end up pulling my hair from its roots. I’m frustrated. I just don’t understand what I’m going to do about my blog.
The technical issues are like small, tiny needles, constantly piercing my skin. And when I try to remove one, another one appears instantly. I have just switched to a new host. All because I was experiencing problems over and over again. But the white blank screen is still here, laughing at me.
I love to write, but my technical skills…
This is bad.
I’m suppose to be writing on my novel, but I can’t focus. I don’t have a single creative thought right now.
I’m eating an orange while typing. I’m sending an email to support at HostGator, and I’m sending an email to support at VaultPress (they have a backup). I’m asking all my friends online for help.
I felt it and I watched it in slow motion as the juice left the orange and landed on my computer and the screen. I should have known that I would get juice all over the place. I’m having a bad hair day. Years ago, I destroyed a MacBook by spilling tea. Now my computer and the screen is all sticky with orange juice.
It’s time to relax.
It’s time to stop trying so hard.
I am shutting down my computer.
I’m listening to Queen and Bohemian Rhapsody. And it makes me think of summer. And my four weeks living in a tent. The sun, the ocean, the birds, and the warm wind, keeping me alive. And the two women standing in front of a yellow tent, discussing. One with a baby in her arms. They’re frustrated. I can hear what they’re saying, even though I’m far away. They’ve stayed in a tent for one day. And that was more than any of them could handle. They baby is crying. The mom is about to cry.
They had called the supervisor at the camping before they decided to come. They asked her if it was a toilet they could use at the camping. She said yes. She didn’t lie. There’s a toilet, but it’s not a toilet I recommend for changing a diper or anything else related to a baby. Most people won’t use the toilet if they had a choice. Now she’s crying. And while watching them, and hearing her sobbing and the loud discussion, I am thinking about how almost peeing in my pants turned into a blessing in disguise.
They had a completely different expectation of what it would be like living in a tent with a baby. They imagined the sun, the ocean, the birds, and the warm wind… and a clean toilet. They never asked for a clean toilet.
This reminds me. I’m suppose to be frustrated right now.