A Voice Crying Wolf in The Wilderness

 Ongoing battles with everything. My computer keyboard types multiple "n"s in any word with an "n". Except if its a capital "N" in which case it types nothing at all. It usually takes within three or four attempts at viciously stabbing the keyboard to make a capital "N" appear. That time, just there, took four attempts. It doesn't sound like much but I type a lot of words with "n" in them. Often spell-check will catch them, but with a word like "in" I'm in trouble, as it makes me sound even more booze obsessed than usual with my casual chats about "inns".  

My WiFi keeps dropping out. This used to happen occasionally, now it happens about ten times a day. The afternoons are the worst for it and, while its mainly an issue with my laptop, it can confuse Alexa, and Netflix doesn't seem to work properly now. Yesterday a man came and fannied about up a ladder doing stuff to a telegraph pole outside the house, and the internet seemed to start working again. Hurrah, we cried, we won't have to get a new router or any of that faff, thank you mysterious sou'wester wearing ladder man. It was nothing to do with us. The WiFi has been dropping out again, quite regularly. I suspect whatever it is we have to do it will be the most expensive thing, as it always is. 

Oh, and neither Twitter of Facebook alerts me if anyone replies or otherwise responds to one of my delightful posts or comments anymore, so the effect of screaming into the void has become so much more obvious. Who knew that social media platforms had such a taste for realism. It is all a colossal waste of time, but I'm surprised they're quite so shameless about it. Actually, is it even an echo chamber if it never replies? Hello? HELLO? 

It's been raining non-stop for days. The older I get the more my SAD effects me. I've been Covid free for days, but its just impossible to leave the house. Everything I might want to do is an hour away, in the rain. It's cold, the wind would de-glove your umbrella in a moment and, besides, a pint costs six quid and the pubs are full of arseholes. What's the point? 

An empty inbox. I have a lot of e-mails I could reasonably anticipate being answered, but day after day there's nothing. Not all of it's business. Quite a lot of it might be filed under "good manners". Nothing. 

My eyesight seems to be getting worse. I did a drawing last month. Fine. I did a drawing today and my eyesight was notably worse. IN A MONTH! Could this be Covid related? I've not heard of eyesight issues. Looks like I'm booking an eye test, then. More costs. The maintenance of my useless body will be my life's work from here on in. Until it's no longer a problem. At that point my over-fifties-life-insurance will take over.  I used to joke about Over-Fifties-Life-Insurance.

I've hit a wall with what I'm writing. Never happened before. I think the biggest obstacle is that I don't agree with the notes the client has given. They're wrong. But it's their dollar, so I have to pull a ridiculous, humourless compromise out of my arse. Each word is a pulled tooth, a pulled muscle, a pulled finger. 

The government is somehow contriving, in the wake of Putin's disgraceful invasion of Ukraine, to make Britain the second worst place in Europe. Asking refugees for visas*, asking for utility bills, making them fill in forms, lying to them about the availability of real access to the country, asking them for money! There's three more years of these odious cunts. And then England will vote them in again, because of course they will. I'm genuinely ashamed. 

On the plus side I've just listened to Minnie Ripperton's "Come To My Garden" album, and it's just great. I'll probably go deaf now. 

*yes, this applies to other refugees of other wars as well. I think all the wars are bad. Okay.