The Other Side . . .

Of me. The one that goes a bit crazy when things go berserk. Like yesterday, when I discovered one of those creepy, crawly, eerily weird intruders on my composter (ooops, computer). It made me feel sick – why? It’s not a ‘real’ thing, just a bit of code sent out to do ‘bad’ stuff – not real, not real, not, not, not.

So why did I get a physical reaction as bad as finding a blood-sucking leech or patch of body-lice or [yecht!] some other creepy-crawly that wanted to do me physical harm?

And then (after putting in place the things that take bleep hours to do the job of seek and destroy) I lost my cool, was tempted to kick the composter (machine thing I can’t live without) or the door or . . .

Yep, the cranky critter emerged and ranted and carried on like a proverbial [bleep! bleep!] until I went outside to find something to vent with or through. And there it was – the trailer full of forest-fines mulch (supplied by the council) and now almost compost.

I’ve been avoiding this job because it’s heavy, takes a lot of time, is dusty and makes me sneeze, and my bones and joints ache for days (maybe into the double digit days) because of the arfer-itix (I call it how I like, and I like to make it into silly names so it has no real weight of fear in my world) that has blessed me with its presence for a few years.

So I pushed the trailer close to the area where I could access most of the dump locations, tipped it up so the dolly wheel was up in the air, and pushed the weight to the back. This is so I don’t have to reach/lean over into the trailer, or lean down under the top bar, or do any of the other silly bendy things that will cause the worst pain. Then I got out the triple-prong hoe, a big bucket, the furniture trolley (the tough one) and filled buckets, loaded the trolley, tipped the delicious smelling stuff in under the stone fruit trees, around the roses, up the high-line citrus trees, along the pathways down the side of the house where the violets go crazy. And I kept it up until the trailer was half empty.

A level of satisfaction came from the effort, and the cranky critter felt a measure of calmness. Time for a cuppa. Gloves off, hat off, kettle on. Check on the composter/computer.

Still working, only 7% after 3 hours. Cranky emerged slightly, but I shook her off and went back out (with the cuppa and the dog – who supervises from the sunny spot in front of the shed) and did more of the routine: bucket load, carry, empty – to the fruit trees in the front yard – pears, apples, olives, plums – the white sapote and guava are up on the high ground, and I can’t do that yet [maybe tomorrow]. Success – trailer 75% empty. Time for another cuppa. Gloves off, leave the hat on – no, shake the dust off, slide it onto the peg that’s now too high to reach without pain, whistle up the dog (who staggers past in the half-dazed sun-addled way dogs do) and we both head inside.

14%. Swear and curse and . . .

Run a bath. Turn on good music and ignore the issue of the serious editing work required. Ensure a notepad and pencil sit by the bath in case of ideas that pop up for the work required – that isn’t happening! Teeth grind, jaw clenches, mind teeters on the edge –

No. Time for some Hatha yoga. Calm, breathe, relax – there’s always tomorrow.

There is, isn’t there?

But what happens if I have to take the machine in to the fixer? How long can I live without it? What will it cost?

BTW – doing this post on a machine that is not mine, so the fight isn’t over yet.

And the backup – now done daily (since the last incursion of the enemy) and as a backup to the backup, I also email a copy of the latest version of the current project to a ‘safe’ source. And have it on a usb stick. Three forms of backup, done daily, should be enough, shouldn’t it?

Now, where can I borrow a machine – and be allowed to use it for up to ten hours a day? After I check it out for contagions!