Day three

Oh, bloody, bollocking, bastard, buggery hell. My computer will not turn on. Suspect it is dead, although perhaps the computer guy, when he comes this afternoon will be able to resuscitate it. I ha’e me doots.

Which places me in a couple of awkward positions.

The first is sitting here at the diningroom table, pen in hand, because a vow is a vow and I vowed that I would make a daily contribution to the Black Dog Diary every day for six weeks. I can’t abandon this vow on Day Three. (So, when I do have a functioning computer again, I’ll have to retype all this.* The bloody wi-fi packed in weeks ago, so I can’t even use the Blackberry to tell people I’m incommunicado.)

I can’t even remember the last time I sat down with pen and notebook to write at length. (Actually I can and suddenly do remember. Ten or more years ago, when I’d taken myself to Paris for my birthday, I had the beginnings of an idea that eventually turned into Rum Do. I spent a huge chunk of the weekend sitting in cafés and bars, scribbling, scribbling, scribbling. Oh, the good old days when writing flowed.)

Speaking of birthdays leads me to the other awkward position. I have to have a computer. It’s not an optional extra in life (like wi-fi or Netflix).

A couple of weeks ago, inspired by my doctor’s encouragement to share my troubles with friends, I wrote an appeal. I was originally going to post it on Facebook, but balked. Far too many semi-friends there, who really didn’t need to know. I sent it instead to a handful of good friends. Thanks to them (one in particular) I am humbled to say that, not only did I receive enough money to cover my birthday wish haircut, prosecco and books, but I also now have enough money for a one-year gym membership (exercise apparently being good for depression).

So, what do I do now? If, as I fear, the computer is dead, do I use the birthday money to replace it? No, I do not. A promise is a promise and that’s what I made in the appeal: If you send me enough money, I will get my hair cut, buy some prosecco and books, and I will start going to the gym. The haircut is already booked for tomorrow afternoon and before that I have a gym orientation session before that. Yes, Cinderella, you will go to the ball.

The replacement computer (and whatever fee the techie charges for telling me it’s dead) will have to be added to the line of credit debt Mike’s kids dumped on me five years ago.

Sigh. It’s a good thing the meds have kicked in or I would be taking this a whole lot worse.

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* Hurrah! It’s four hours later. The techie’s been and gone. It took him five minutes to get the computer going, after which he walked me through how to fix the problem myself if it happens again. Day Three has now been typed up. And, thanks to having no computer for a couple of hours, I’ve got a batch of blueberry muffins cooling on the rack. It’s turned out to be a not at all bad day.