broken

I'm not slack. I'm hobbled. My computer is jacked and so I can't write, let alone post from home. So, I'm stealing a clandestine moment away from work at work (we'll call it my lunch hour) to put up this little missive. I'll be back soon. I hope. And so does everyone around me, because I'm cranky and Cranky Jill is not pleasant. She's tedious, venomous and self-centered. She can be a little mean and manipulative. Think any character Heather Locklear's ever played minus the great hair, charm and perky strut. I'm thisclose to sullen. I feel like the color of dirt. My brain seems cob-webby in the least romantic sense. I think I'm uglier. And it's all because my fucking computer is fucking broken.

Is it normal and healthy for one's sense of well-being to be tied up in a machine? Better, I suppose, a computer than a television, right? Or a toaster.

I miss you, Egg in Spoon. I miss writing you, very, VERY much.