I just spent an hour and fifteen minutes of my life trying to get the right vertical scroll on a folder in my computer to re-appear. I will never get that time back. What else could I have done in that amount of time? Made a kick-ass lasagna and side salad for dinner. Worked out. Taken the dog for a walk. Cleaned the bathrooms. Watched an episode and a half of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, The Best Show Ever!

Any of those would have been great, but no. I went down a wormhole, determined to discover what had gone wrong. And I didn’t even accomplish the entire task. I think Dropbox has moved in and is trying to gain control of my life like the mice we had in the house which had crawled through a slit in the concrete the size of a dime. Screw you, mice! Try getting through that ball of spikey steel mesh I shoved in that hole! I hope the rabbits get you!

I believe I have a tech frustration hangover. Learning technology is a painful process. Alone, with no one to guide you but Mr. Google and chat rooms of people mercifully experiencing the same problems, it’s up to you to figure shit out. Try, fail, try again. Oops, setback. What happened? Damn! What is happening now?

It feels like you’re looking at an endless, sandy beach littered with a million holes. Standing utterly alone on the desolate field of sand, you know the answer is in one of those holes, but you have to stick your hand bravely down into the empty, black space of each of them in order to find out if your answer lies within. And sometimes, when you stick your hand in the hole, something will bite it. You jump up, holding your hand. “Dammit! Ouch! That hurt!” Then you look at the next hole and grit your teeth. “Argh! What choice do I have, I’m going in.”

We have an ongoing argument in our house about my habit of leaving Twizzlers on the front porch during the winter for the rabbits. Yes, sigh, I know it’s probably not good for them, but they love it. I have fun all winter as I place the chewy strings of deliciousness closer and closer to the door and front window. If you want the candy, boys, you have to get real close, that way I can enjoy the show when you pick up the licorice stick and I can watch you munch. It disappears like the spaghetti in “Lady and the Tramp,” just a bit at a time and just as adorable. My rabbits live long and grow very large over the winter. The same thing cannot be said about the hedge-row they live under waiting for their next snack.

George, of the long-suffering-husband-class, is unhappy with this activity. But at least it makes me and the children smile. It balances me. When technology makes me crazy, I feel compelled to spread that crazy to others. Poor George, poor rabbits, poor mice.

I need a drink.