Admittedly, I woke up with a bit of a hangover this morning (note to self: stop drinking with seniors - they've had way more practice than you), so my patience for the usual squabbling that goes on between my laptop, Fluffy and the modem (let's call him Moe) was notably Not There.
I was trying to download something that I had tried to download yesterday with no success. But I was in the shop yesterday and that's All The Way Downstairs from where Moe lives. Naively I thought that letting them work together while they were on the same floor would do the trick.
Three times. THREE TIMES in five minutes the connection dropped. And I'm all, like, "Fluffy, WHAT is your problem? Why can't you just do what I ask?!!?"
Much fluttering and wounded innocence. Moe, it turns out, "Won't let me!"
Honestly, I thought I'd avoided this kind of senseless, unending conflict by not actually having children, but apparently, no one is spared.
So I'm off to the bedroom closet where Moe lives. And he's just sitting there blinking and humming, feeding me some line about the furnace and its mesmerizing sound and how that rush of air just makes him, oooopsy, drop the connection.
And I'm thinking, is it possible that my modem is on drugs? Cuz that's how it appears to me!!
So we've got the thermostat turned way down. And I try to do my work in between warming trends. Cuz these two kids? They're never going to get along.
Just play quietly by yourselves. Mummy's brains hurt.