The honeymoon is over with my new cell phone. It works OK I guess, depending on how low your standards are. I open it and am confronted with an array of ambiguous glyphs as indecipherable to me as the stelae of Palenque, an electronic miniature stela. All this requires learning and I want no more learning at this point. That's all I do right now. I'll keep it around and try to keep from hating it or throwing it into the ocean. I already started the symptoms of phone anxiety. You have to carry it. What if grandma calls and has fallen and can't get up? Then you remember that 1.grandma can just call 911 herself and 2.grandma died years ago. The fear of missing something is interwoven in it's possession, a pact with the devil. There's always a price and it ain't money. You have contact with the world, but you miss out on your neighborhood. I walk every day and say "hello" to electronically isolated people that might notice me. I don't carry it around with me. It's in the car mostly. Another definition of freedom is not carrying it around. A better one is not having it at all.
I keep plodding along. Everything I'm doing is a cobbled together amalgam of things that might maybe work. As Sherlock Holmes found respite in his 7% solution, I am only 40% satisfied with most of my solutions. I guess that that's sailing. I never wanted to do things this way, but it seems that it is the only way: rigged. Now I want to launch. This boat building used to be a set of challenges to be dealt with and conquered. Then we'd pat ourselves on the back and move to the next thing. Now, challenges are impediments to be solved unsatisfactorily because there is no other way. It is against my nature to do things this way. That's why it's so frustrating. I didn't want to be that guy that says "Aw, hell get it done".
So lets dispense with the illiterate alliterations and proceed to the blog, for what it's worth.
I guess it must be the same with all Wharramonians. I don't like other people messing with my boat. It looms large in my legend.