Technology Trauma (no bowl of cherries)
Life just isn’t a bowl of cherries lately. Too bad, too. Life seems to be a bowl of MalWare instead. Anyone ever heard of MalWare?
I hadn’t, before yesterday. Sounded like some bad clothing. Poor style choices. Evil plastic containers. Well, the evil part appears to be correct. The nasty little virus isn’t terrible, just annoying enough to drive you crazy not to mention anyone who wants to look. So what marketing genius came up with the idea of infecting sites and then dangling a purchase to kill off aforementioned virus, or others of that ilk? Is that like assisted suicide? Technology blackmail?
May I say that my past 24 hours have been hellacious? With a cherry on top?
May I say that my son looked handsome in his tux, headed out to Prom this evening? (No mal wear there…)
For anyone who was good enough to attempt to pop by and read (and every now and then the nasty little advertising MalWare weasel doesn’t appear), let me say that the minions, the warriors, and the good souls are all trying their hardest to figure out how to cleanse my daily plate of crazy so I may write in peace, and not age another five years over technology traumas.
Enough already! Really. I’d sonnetize if I could, but I’d rather sanitize. And I’d sanitize with a sonnet, but I doubt I’ll have the time to do it before my screen explodes in my face. Figuratively speaking, naturellement. But I’ll give it a shot (in hell?)
Sorry Sonnet (all the same)
I think I need to soak my head in beer,
My neighbor helping out must want to scream,
I truly am not feeling of good cheer
(Perhaps this week is nothing but a dream?)
It started now some six long days ago
With strange and evil virus acts so bold
I need to conjure angels in the snow
Or stumble over bullion bars of gold
And give up all this writing stuff online.
Would I miss it, craziness and all?
Yes. I think it would not feel so fine.
Writing daily makes me feel so TALL!
Poor William Shakespeare’s flailing in his grave,
Dare I push the “publish” or the “save?”