Tag Archives: life
Confessions of a technology addict
I was voting in the Locus Awards (annual sci fi/fantasy award poll held by Locus Magazine, which is open to anyone who wants to vote), and was completing the survey portion at the end, when I got to the question, “Do you own a computer? If so, how many?” and I paused for only a moment. See, I personally own three right now: my 7-year-old Mac Pro tower (gigantic thing that was way more powerful than I needed when I bought it because I wanted to be happy with it for years), my Macbook Pro laptop (also known as Hello, Sweetie!), and a 6-year old Windows 7 ultrabook (aka Macbook Air knock-off) for those few old programs I have that I can’t find equivalents of for Mac. Those are my personal computers.
Then there is my iPad Air 2, which I use for several laptop functions, particularly at work, because it is better at them than the clunky old Dell laptops that my employer provided (though we are finally, finally starting to get upgrades this year!). It is clearly a computing device, and a lot more powerful than many computers I’ve owned in the past. And I’m always pointing out that iPhones and high-end smartphones in general are actually pocket computers that obviate a phone, not merely phones themselves…
And then there’s another way to look at it. I’m married, and we’re living in a community property state, so technically my computers also belong to Michael, but more importantly for this survey, his belong to me and… well, I have no clue how many he owns. I mean, he has his older Macbook Air that he carries back and forth to work, and then there is his much nicer Macbook Pro that he uses for more serious portable computing, and then there are, if I just peek at his desk, four PC towers and mini-towers, and I see at least one laptop, and counting how many things are plugged into his giant KVM switch (that allows all of his desk computers to share his monitors, keyboard, and mouse)…. well, if I’m counting those right, there is at least one more computer in that desk somewhere that I can’t see. Plus the Mac Mini in another room that we use as a media server, and I know there are at least two laptops in his pile of “machines I could make usable if someone we know has a complete computer failure and needs something now” pile…
You can see why I have no clue how many computers he owns. So I asked him, “Honey, how many computers do you own?” To which he frowned, looked at me a little bit sheepishly, and said, “I have no idea. Why?”
I decided since he can vote in the Locus Awards himself, that I could just answer 3 for me, and not worry about the rest. Particularly since I could see that a subsequent question asked whether we owned any of the following: smartphone, tablet, iPod, e-book reading device. So I could count some of my other computing devices there.
Thank goodness they didn’t ask how many of those!
I only own the one iPad, myself. But since I have never gotten around to re-selling my old iPhone when I upgraded to the new one, I technically have more than one of those. And then there are iPods other than my phone: one for the car, one that I use as a watch, one that plugs onto my alarm clock and helps wake me up each morning, and I think four spares for the car (because we’ve had more than one stolen from the car over the years). The spares are squirreled away on my desk, so it would take me a bit to find them.
And my husband is worse, because he has more than one iPad he uses regularly (one lives more or less permanently in his bicycle bag. It’s an older one that he salvaged form a junk bin at work where it had a shattered screen and a slightly bent body; he straightened the body, installed a new screen, and may have done some other repairs to it to make it fully functional again).
So I should clarify, for people that don’t know, that one of the reasons we are over-supplied in this technology department is because he works for a computer recycler/refurbisher, and he frequently acquires dead or damaged computers, iPods, et cetera, and cobbles together working devices by scavenging parts out of them. And, truth be told, he did that sort of thing before he started working at this place, he just has a slightly more ready supply of the damaged tech to choose from.
But none of that explains my headphone collection. Because I have a bunch of those. Way more than I could reasonably use. I mean, I can only use one pair at a time, right? Well, it’s just easier to have one pair of wireless headphones that I wear for riding the bus to work, walking home, and so forth, and a wired pair kept with my desktop computer. And a wired pair with a good boom microphone for my laptop… and then there were those gorgeous purple headphones I originally bought for the laptop, but their microphone has degraded a bit, and they’re no longer really good for conference calls to work on my work-from-home days, or skype calls with friends; so I had to get the newer pair mentioned previously, but the sound quality for listening is still awesome, and they’re gorgeous purple, so I can’t throw them out!
And there’s a pair of wired headphones that live in my personal backpack so I have a set of noise cancelling headphones at conventions and such in case I need them. And a backup set of wireless headphones (or four or five, if I’m honest and look in that place on the desk where I keep them) for those moments (which happen with every pair of wireless headphones eventually), when you turn them on and prepare for your commute and you hear that dreaded crackle in one side… or no sound at all from one side. And there’s at least one backup set of headphones in my office bag, in case the wireless ones die while I’m out and about. And another set of wired noise-cancelling headphones that stay at the office so I can deploy them when co-workers (such as certain meetings that happen regularly in the conference room nearest my desk) get too loud and distracting for me to work. And, of course, a backup pair in my “computer things we regularly take to conventions” bag…
See, my headphone addiction is much, much worse than my iPod problem!
And then there are word processing programs! When I counted recently, I had nine or ten on my iPhone, a similar number on my iPad (but they aren’t all the same, because a couple of them are iPad-only, and some that are on the iPhone aren’t on the iPad for one reason or another), and there are way, way, way more on my laptop… Because some of them are better for some kinds of writing than others, and most of them can read each others’ files, anyway, so why not?
And let’s not talk about how many are installed on the desktop computer that aren’t on the laptop, nor why my Windows machine that I almost never use because it’s a backup, really, but it has more than one…
…and there is at least one licensed copy of a word processor that I prefer on my husband’s Macbook Air that I purchased and put on there so I could use his laptop if mine wasn’t available.
At least not all of my addictions are entirely digital. Most of the dictionaries I own are the old-fashioned printed on paper type…
…most…
Life, Death, and Unanswerable Questions
To be clear, I didn’t know Logan. I had seen him at least once before, and I had read a guest post or two of his on some of the myriad sf/f themed blogs and sites that I read, but I don’t believe I’ve ever even sat in a panel that he was participating in. Nor had I read any of his books, so it’s a little weird that hearing through my social media stream that he had died struck me the way it did.
Seriously, when I passed him in the hall this last weekend, it took me several seconds to remember why he seemed familiar. His name didn’t come to mind right way.
So why did the news upset me so? Maybe it’s the juxtaposition of how much fun I had at NorWesCon; and how—for me—a good convention experience leaves me feeling a renewed sense of purpose and a new appreciation for what a wonderful, messy, diverse, and strange variety of humans make up what I think of as “my peeps?” Maybe also a little bit of guilt that I could be having such a great time while another human I was (however briefly) sharing space with was apparently in great pain?
Someone who does know Logan personally has written about it: Silence or Violence: Logan, Suicide, and the Culture of Masculine Silence. And I think this part is spot on:
We need to be more compassionate, and more aware that we don’t know what’s going on in one another’s heads and hearts.
We seriously need to STOP MAKING A FUCKING SPORT out of shredding one another in public for fun.
We must stop holding each other to, and stop teaching our children to expect, impossible standards with unhealthy results.
And when someone cries out – regardless of their gender and our thoughts of how they “should” be acting in that time of crisis – we goddamned well should fucking LISTEN. And not make it about ourselves.
I know I’m guilty of failing to listen. All of that socialization about being strong and handling problems makes us say things we think are encouraging, but don’t sound that way to the person who needs a little compassion. If I read a post or an article by someone talking about feeling unattractive or undesirable, my first instinct is to argue with them. If I hear someone lamenting a bad situation, my first instinct is to tell them what I think they ought to be doing (or have already done) to fix the problem.
Instead, our first instinct should be to listen, to ask whether they want anything from us before we start outlining a plan to fix their lives, and offer hugs if we think they’re comfortable with it.
Hugs can’t fix everything. Listening can’t fix everything. But most of the time we don’t need to be fixed, we just need to know we’re not alone.
Onion arguments and thorny questions
I almost put a link to this fun post from Rachael Acks in last week’s Friday Links, but I also wanted to say some more about it, so I hung onto it. Which is silly, because I can put something in Friday Links and write about it either afterward or before, obviously. Anyway, first the link:
Reasons why I will not be replying to your argument
At the top of the post she says, “This post has been made for my own later use. Others are welcome to use it as well.” The idea being rather than argue with certain types of comments, remarks, concern-trolling, et cetera, just send a link to this post. If you want to give the person a bit more of a clue, reference one of the numbered paragraphs by number.
The last several days I’ve encountered several situations where number 2 and 2i apply:
2. Something you have said indicates to me that you lack the necessary factual grounding in order to have this argument, and I am completely uninterested in doing the background research for you.
i. If you are interested in paying me to do the research for you, for example by way of writing an annotated bibliography that you can peruse at your convenience, we can discuss my hourly rates.
Which reminded me of Foz Meadow’s excellent description of a “onion arguments” which she has referenced a few times, including in her post last year, Hugos & Puppies: Peeling The Onion:
When it comes to debating strangers with radically different perspectives, you sometimes encounter what I refer to as Onion Arguments: seemingly simple questions that can’t possibly be answered to either your satisfaction or your interlocutor’s because their ignorance of concepts vital to whatever you might say is so lacking, so fundamentally incorrect, that there’s no way to answer the first point without first explaining eight other things in detail. There are layers to what’s being misunderstood, to what’s missing from the conversation, and unless you’ve got the time and inclination to dig down to the onion-core of where your perspectives ultimately diverge, there’s precious little chance of the conversation progressing peacefully.
And it isn’t just in arguments. I had recent exchange in social media about my current bout of illness, which I had summed up by saying that I was on my third round of antibiotics, and I really hoped they worked because I was tired of all the blood tests, x-rays, et cetera. The other person said maybe I should see a doctor. Which made me reply, “Who do you think prescribed each round of antibiotics and all the blood tests?” Which they still didn’t understand why I couldn’t say exactly what I had and when I would be well. Which led me to assume that this person has had the great luck of never having an illness which wasn’t quickly diagnosed, and didn’t completely grasp how prescription drugs are sold, et cetera.
Foz also explains the reasons why this sort of situation can be so frustrating:
[Y]our interlocutor thinks they’ve asked a reasonable, easy question, your inability to answer it plainly is likely to make them think they’ve scored a point. It’s like a cocky first-year student asking a 101 question and feeling smug when their professor can’t condense the four years of study needed to understand why it’s a 101 question into a three-sentence answer. The problem is one as much of attitude as ignorance: having anticipated a quick response, your interlocutor has to be both willing and interested enough to want to hear what might, at least initially, sound like an explanation of a wholly unrelated issue – and that’s assuming you’re able to intuit the real sticking point straight off the bat.
And that’s how we get drawn into endless spirals. Which aren’t usually worth our time. Unfortunately, sometimes it happens with people we actually know and love (or at least like a great deal and would like to keep in our lives), and it can be difficult to figure out how to navigate the situation without everyone getting upset.
Particularly if when either you or the other person suggests some variant of, “Maybe we can agree to disagree on this?” but it is met with, “Thanks for invalidating my feelings!” or something similar.
When it’s a friend, unfortunately, we can’t just hand them a link to Rachael’s post referenced at the beginning of the message. The really sobering part is realizing how many times someone should probably have referred me to said post…
The Incredibly Slowly Shrinking Writer
I’ve never had the kind of body anyone would call heroic. Even back in middle school when I was active (and generally not terribly good) in various sports. Back then I was usually short for my age (other than a brief exception in 7th grade when I shot up to what would turn out to be my full adult height, but within two years all but two of my classmates were taller than me, again), and was usually painfully scrawny. Then, in my twenties, Still the same height I’d been since the age of 14, I started gaining weight and generally started to look like many generations of short, round, bald, hairy men on my Dad’s side of the family. Yes, bald. my hairline starting receding around the age of 15.
Despite having more than a bit of a belly, for most of my thirties and forties I had excellent blood pressure and more than excellent cholesterol numbers. That was probably helped by the fact that for most of my adult life I’ve walked, a lot. I currently live about five miles from the location of my office, and most nights after work I walk home, rather than take the bus. Even when I’m feeling sick, I walk a couple of miles to get to a bus stop along the way.
Every male descendant of my paternal great-grandfather with whom I am in contact developed adult onset diabetes by their mid-forties. A few in their thirties. And some of them didn’t follow doctor’s advice when diagnosed, and suffered various awful complications. So fifteen years ago (at age 41) when I received the official pre-diabetic diagnosis, I vowed to take it seriously. I went to the nutritionist my doctor recommended. I mostly followed the diet—for fourteen years. We got so used to following it, that recently when the new consult changed it, my hubby and I keep forgetting we’re allowed to buy beef, now.
About ten months ago, my blood sugar went really bad, after hanging in the “higher than optimal, but still not diabetic” range, and I finally gave in and let the doctor start me on insulin. At least I made the it into my mid-fifties before it fully hit! The initial treatment is to start at a very low dose and start edging up as you get used to checking your blood sugar regularly and learn how your body reacts. Standard procedure is to see the doctor two weeks after starting to get evaluated.
Now, after only two days on insulin, both I and my husband noticed that I was much more energetic. I hadn’t noticed a long slow drag to my overall energy level and feeling of well-being over the previous few years. The most dramatic discovery though happened at that first follow-up visit. I had lost about 11 pounds in two weeks.
My regular pharmacist had been telling me during the previous couple of years while we tried various non-insulin medications, that in her experience, when the patient found the right treatment, lots of things improved, including the patient’s weight. I hadn’t believed her.
In the months since, I have been steadily having, at odd intervals, to tighten my belt another notch. My work slacks got so baggy I gave in a few months ago and bought a couple pairs of smaller pants. I’ve even had to adjust the wrist band for the iPod Nano that I wear as a watch. I never thought I had fat wrists, but apparently there was some to lose there, too. I had to change which finger I wear my grandfather’s ring on, because it fell off the old finger. My wedding ring, which was a very tight fit for the last few years, isn’t in that danger, yet, but it slides off without much effort now.
Make no mistake, I have a lot of weight still to use. When I look in the mirror, I still look just as fat to my own eyes as ever. But I hit another milestone today: I am on the last notch on this belt. Counting from the dent in the leather from the spot I was at for years, I’ve tightened this belt five times, now. It may be time to buy some smaller pants, again.
My new diet is still low carb, but I’m no longer doing the glycemic load calculation, where I get to have more carbs if I eat high fiber foods. Because doing that doesn’t keep my blood sugar down. The other change is that I’m allowed to eat fat again. I’m eating a much higher fat diet than I did for fourteen years, and only now am I losing weight. Also, my cholesterol never got bad, but it had left the unbelievably good range during that time I was pre-diabetic. But now that I’m on insulin, my cholesterol numbers are back to incredibly good. And remember, I’m eating more fat, now.
I’ve been feeling down a lot for the last two months because of these flu- and cold-like symptoms that would never completely go away. Yesterday, after another ten days on antibiotics (for the opportunistic bacterial ear-nose-throat infection on top of whatever the viral thing is) I finally felt better than “meh” after longer than I care to admit. I’m not feeling great, just okay.
But realizing this morning, when I tried to tighten my belt that I was actually having to pull it slightly past the last notch before it felt tight, that certainly was a great feeling!
Confessions of a cluttering packrat
It’s the reason we found multiple old microwave ovens hidden in the closets of my maternal grandmother’s house after she died. It’s the reason that clearing out the first bedroom in grandma’s house filled up the beds of three of my cousins’s pickup trucks more than four times each for trips to thrift stores and the dump. And it’s the reason that any time I replace an old appliance or gadget or household item with a new one, I hear that phrase, “you might need that some day!” in my Grandma’s voice. I essentially have to have an argument with Grandma’s ghost every single time I even contemplate discarding an item.
And Grandma’s ghost is stubborn!
Another eccentricity I have is They’re All My Favorite syndrome. For instance, I like tea. I admit to being a cultureless American who grew up on Lipton tea bags, I have made real tea with loose leaf teas, but 99.8% of the time I make tea from tea bags. And I have favorites. I love Numi Aged Earl Grey, for instance. And Stash Double Bergamot, and Stash Earl Grey Green & Black, and Revolution Earl Grey Lavender, and Numi Jasmine Blosson Green Tea, and Stash Lemon Ginger Green, and Twinnings Darjeeling, and Revolution Peach Ginger Black, and Revolution Dragon Eye Oolong, and Revolution Jasmine Blackberry Oolong, and Twinnings Orange & Cinnamon Spice, and let’s just admit that absolutely any blend that has Bergamot or Lavender in it will be bought by me and tried at least once, so there are always about ten Earl Greys of one sort or another…
And don’t get me started on Bigelow Raspberry Royale that used to be carried in all the grocery stores around here but I have to order it online—when it is in stock, which isn’t often!
The problem is, I love all of these teas, and I buy boxes of the teas, but I have tended to buy teas faster than I drink them. I take some boxes in to work, but I drink the free office provided coffee in the morning, switching to tea in the afternoon. Because I really need the strong caffeine hit of the coffee! Making tea with a kettle on the stove, particularly since most of the time I’m only making it for one, has always been more of a hassle than making a pot of coffee in the morning and reheating it as needed, or grabbing something premade out of the fridge if I want something other than water.
And for various health reasons, I’ve been cultivating a habit of drinking a glass or mug of plain water whenever I head into the kitchen looking for something to drink. As in, I don’t allow myself to pour some coffee or grab a bottle out of the fridge until I’ve drank water.
I have almost bought myself an electric tea kettle many times, but then feel guilty because the house is already cluttered everywhere, and do we really need another appliance that has only one purpose?
The last time our coffee maker died, my husband talked me into buying the model that had a separate tea maker. All it really is is a second separate water reservoir and separate heating element and so on that makes hot water that you can dispense in a cup in the separate location from the coffee pot. So now I make tea much more often.
Unfortunately, this had the effect of making me start buying even more tea. Thankfully, some weeks back my friend J’wyl sent me a link to a tea bag organizer thing that was selling pretty cheap on Amazon. Another friend she shared the link with bought it right away and waxed rhapsodic about how much it cleaned up his big pile of tea boxes. So I bit the bullet. I shared the picture at the top of this post with them the day after I moved tea bags out of boxes and disposed of about 14 boxes. I wish I’d taken a picture of the pile of empty boxes.
You can see in the picture I did take that I couldn’t get all of the tea bags into the organizer. For one thing, the larger Revolution bags don’t fit (and if you don’t keep them in their airtight resealable ziplock foil bag, they lose a lot of their flavor fairly quickly). But it does help. The compartments only hold about 12 bags each. The are another six compartments on the back side, so it holds about 144 tea bags, which I realize is a lot. Most of the teas I buy come in boxes of 18-24, so it would be nice if the compartments were a little bit bigger, but it is definitely an improvement over the pile of boxes. Particularly since a box that only has a couple of bags in it takes up just as much space as the brand new, completely full box.
It is a teeny, tiny step against the clutter. But an improvement!
Dumb arguments against legal protections for transgender people, part 5
At least I hope that’s what’s happening. I hope that it’s merely a lot of folks still feeling giddy about the Supreme Court ruling legalizing marriage equality nationwide thinking that the big battle is won and queer people are equal, now. We won one big battle, but there’s still a long way to go. I hope, I sincerely hope, that it is not true (as some fear) that a substantial portion of the queer population doesn’t think that trans issues matter.
Because we really do seem to be letting the haters say whatever lies they want about trans people, and a lot of the media just repeats that factually incorrect information as if it is true.
Over at Holy Bullies and Headless Monsters, Alvin Erwin has been beating the drum about our complacency: ‘Lgbts want to harm children’ – the lie the community won’t kill, and Mothers of the transgender community speak out against the hateto give a couple of examples. I’ve been beginning to think he’s right, that we’ve given up on the fight because we think marriage ended everything.
So I am really happy that one of the LGBTQ rights groups has finally started to push back: GLAAD releases new resource for journalists: Debunking the “bathroom bill” myth. This isn’t enough. This is only a first step. It’s going to take much more than making a single press kit available to hold off the attack.
Especially not when Conservative Trolls Have Been Suggesting Men Go into Women’s Restrooms to Help Legislators Discriminate Against Trans People. That’s right, as a few people have gotten the word out that there are states which have explicitly allowed trans people to use the bathroom that matches their gender identity for upwards of ten years, and that there has never, ever been a single instance of someone trying to use that law to go into a restroom and rape someone, the paragons of virtue have decide to manufacture some fake instances.
And make no mistake: these bills aren’t just aimed at trans people. It’s an attempt to get a wedge in to find other ways to discriminate against queer people of all kinds. If they normalize the idea (once again) that simply making some conservative people feel uncomfortable is an adequate defense to criminalize a behavior, trans people in bathrooms aren’t where they’re going to stop. Holding hands with a same sex partner in a public place makes those same people uncomfortable, after all.
Previously:
Dumb arguments against legal protections for transgender people.
Dumb arguments against legal protections for transgender people, part 2.
Dumb arguments against legal protections for transgender people, part 3.
Dumb arguments against legal protections for transgender people, part 4
Powerless, again
I looked at the nearby clock. It was just a bit after 3 a.m. I could hear Michael still awake up in the computer room. For a second I debated whether the phone had actually been ringing. Then it started buzzing again. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed the phone, and saw the name of his oldest sister. I knew it had to be bad news.
It was. There was a house fire not long after midnight at Michael’s mother’s house back in Oklahoma. The fire had completely engulfed the house. At that point, no one knew where his mom was, nor whether Michael’s youngest brother (who had moved back in with their mom a while back) had been home. Worse: one of our nieces (age 14) and one of our nephews (age 12), the children of Michael’s youngest sister, were supposed to be staying with their grandma for the weekend.
The firefighters were still trying to get the blaze under control so they could safely start looking for bodies.
A few hours later we got the news that all four of them had been home, and none of them had survived the fire.
Definitely bad news.
When you hear news like that, you want to be able to help. We feel like we should be able to do something. Everything we can do feels inadequate. We wonder how it could have been prevented. If we were directly involved in the lives of the people, we wonder what we did wrong. What we could have done differently.
I’m in a weird position on this. I never met any of the four people who died. I exchanged some messages with this brother-in-law on Facebook. I’ve had similar exchanges and a phone conversation or two with the mother of the niece and nephew. While I have met and love my husband’s other siblings and his father, the others have remained acquaintances—not helped by the fact that we’ve never gone back to visit. Just to be clear that it’s through no fault of theirs.
Except his mother… well, we’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, so I’ll just say the one and only communication I ever received from her was enough to make me glad we live 2000 miles away. My husband’s family has a bit more dysfunction than most, to be honest. And every time that I assert my family is just as messed up, he always manages to come up with a story that is hard to top.
As my husband said to some friends offering condolences last night, to say that feelings are conflicted right now is putting it mildly.
It’s a sad situation. Powerless to avert all tragedies, the best we can do sometimes is love and support the survivors.
Confessions of the son of a drunk
Humans tell stories because narratives are extremely powerful. Narratives can help us overcome adversity or survive disaster. Unfortunately, they can also trap us in unhealthy situations, or lead us into catastrophe.
When I was a kid, the narrative prevalent in most of my extended family was that alcohol caused all of my dad’s problems. It was certainly true that on days when he started drinking early the rest of us did everything we could to stay out of his way. If dad was drunk before nightfall, it pretty much guaranteed that someone was going to get a beating. But those weren’t the only days that he was like that. The only reason people outside the immediate family could hang on to that narrative was that if he wasn’t actually drunk, and there were people outside the immediate family present, Dad would remain on his best behavior. They didn’t know that, drunk or not, he was just as likely to slap or punch any of us at any time if he thought we were out of line.
And what constituted being out-of-line was difficult to predict. For me, it included doing anything he thought wasn’t manly, for instance.
Even though Dad rejected any suggestion that he should drink less, their narrative that it was all alcohol’s fault dovetailed nicely with his own rationalization, which was simply that nothing which went wrong in his life was ever his fault. Someone else was always to blame. That wasn’t the only notion the narrative dovetailed nicely with… Continue reading Confessions of the son of a drunk
Confessions of the badly, madly distracted
!["The writer cannot make the seas of distraction stand still, but he [or she] can at times come between the madly distracted and the distractions." - Saul Bellow](https://fontfolly.net/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/quote-the-writer-cannot-make-the-seas-of-distraction-stand-still-but-he-or-she-can-at-times-saul-bellow-74-24-32.jpg)
So I’ll get up and go looking for the cup. Which may simply be sitting on the kitchen counter, where I left it while I was refilling it from the coffee maker, and was distracted by something else. Or it might be up in the bathroom, because right as I was refilling it I decided I should make a pit stop, and I carried the cup with me where I sat it beside the sink and then forgot about once I was done. Or maybe it’s in the microwave, because an hour previously my nearly full beverage had been too cold to be appetizing, so I took heated it up, and then forgot about it.
If it is in the microwave, it has probably cooled back down, so I’ll hit the button to reheat it, and head back to my computer determined that this time I will notice when the microwave dings and come right back. Which means that I’ll sit at the computer staring at the screen, but I’m not really thinking about writing, I’m listening for the ding of the microwave. And I’ll go retrieve the drink this time… Continue reading Confessions of the badly, madly distracted
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