Sang froid

You have had days such as this, but in installments.  Today, things appeared to converge however and where ever they can,  There is at the moment no available Internet connection except through the mobile hotspot provided by your telephone, already an anomalous emergency potential.  The source of your internet connection comes from a cable supplier, one you yourself have used for about fifteen years, until your recent move.

No, that isn't true, you still use it in the sense that you piggyback off your landlady, thus another advantage--until today--of living here.  

You have already rebooted her modem but alas, your Internet connection of yesterday and before has not returned. Nor can yu call Cox cable tv to explain that you are calling for technical apport and are, in fact, a squatter rather than a paying customer.

The cell phone Internet hotspot is not nearly so powerful as the signal you once piggybacked on, thus a good deal of frustration with download speeds, trying to get references and text to address your publisher's notes on your manuscript.

There is the added problem of your wireless mouse, which has never behaved to your satisfaction and which, today, you have tried to replace with its predecessor, but your computer subscribes to the theory that once they are out the door, screw them.  Maybe they can come home for an occasional meal, but that's it.

You are about sixty pages from being through with your revisions, but you are also constrained by having increments of about fifteen minutes in which to enjoy Internet connection before you are delivered messages informing you you are not connected to the Internet.

You are strangely acceptant of all this, seeming to survive in the midst of a sea of frustration.  How lovely it would be to get rid of your wireless mouse, your wireless keyboard, your wireless printer, your cell phone, which in earlier times you actually threw with a resounding intensity into the chaparral  adjacent Greenwell Avenue in Summerand, not to return to such things as a cell phone for at least two years.

So at the moment, you are at odds with your wireless keyboard, your wireless mouse, and your god damned wireless printer which is still better than its HP predecessor.  You have a book review due tomorrow, the edit notes to cope with on your book plus a three-hundred-mile venture northward along 101 to Woodside, a small enclave between Palo Alto and Redwood City.

Sometime in the near future, you will park somewhere along the border of a favored field in Soledad, a small town between King City and Salinas, where, with the very same computer you are now using and your cell phone with its wi-fi hotspot, you will undertake Saturday's blog essay, as it comes to you, having the same tools at your command as those you are now using.

At the moment, you are congratulating yourself for your sang froid.  In the months and perhaps years to come when you sift through these events in light of your curiosity about something, it is more than likely you will have resolved your Internet connection from its present state and wonder what you were about on this day of frustration that began at about seven this morning and which has extended until now.