Error: You shall not write!

“Whoever or whatever it was that Carl was yelling at didn’t seem to be taking the slightest notice; which was, of course, completely normal. All computers expect to be yelled at. There’s not a single computer in the whole world that hasn’t been sworn at.”

~ Tom Holt, Snow White and the Seven Samurai

This is just great! Finally I have ideas flowing, stories building up in my head. So I sit down in front of my laptop and open the site of my blog. Everything goes as usual. Until I try to click the “My Site” button to add another post.

Click.

Nothing happens.

Click.

Click!

CLICK!

Nothing.

I try to log out again, so I click on the associated button.

Click.

Nothing.

I start to get a little angry.

Click, click, click, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK!!!!!!

The husband let’s me know that there are more convenient ways of communication these days than Morse code.

“HA HA!”, I answer with a fake sarcastic laughter.

I open another tab, just to make sure the problem is not connected to the browser or the internet connection. Everything runs smoothly. Hm…

I go back to my blog site.

Click.

Still nothing.

The anger accumulates.

“Ahhh!”, I scream a little primevally. Then I continue hitting the mouse button.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

“One shall not hit the computer, it might break.”, the son cites his father in a know-it-all manner.

“This is my computer, I can do with it what ever I want!”, I say using teenage rhetoric.

“Well, obviously you can’t, which is the reason for your anger.”, my husband remarks cleverly.

“SILENCE!”, I command.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

“Why don’t you just… you know? The power button?!”, the husband recommends.

I turn around in my executive chair.

“Oh, such wisdom! As if I had not thought of that myself already!? The problem is, that everything else is running just fine and I have a lot of documents and websites open for my law course. I don’t feel like investing work and time into saving all the websites, closing all the documents, then shutting down the computer, rebooting the computer, reopening all websites and documents…”

While I’m talking the son is sneaking around my desk.

“… I will probably miss a site or document. Then I have to spend time searching for it again… time, time, I have no time! Do I look to you like a woman who has a lot of time?”

The husband checks out my usual work clothing: a pajama trendily combined with an oversized, baggy cardigan (we have -35°C, so I need a little coziness), my hair in a messy bun, my face lined through discontent.

“Well…”, he starts. Then he stops.

My eyes glisten dangerously, my left eyebrow arches upwards.

“That’s a trick question.”, he grumbles.

“Anyway…”, I continue. Then I turn around, just in time to see that my son is already executing his father’s proposal: his lovely tiny finger is on my power button.

“No…!”, I whisper desperately.

Then I can see how my screen goes bla…

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