We keep our calendars, correspondence, lists, photos, personal info, important reminders, bills, irresistibly cute cat pictures, recipes, outlines for the great American novel on our computers and all is well and good for a while....
But then, late one night we sign on to look at those sandals from Zappos for the millionth time and receive the shock of our lives. It's all gone.
|Tito the Cat|
I've been talking about this for a while so when I noticed that my "wallpaper," (a picture of my son's cat as a tiny kitten, right after a bath in the kitchen sink) was no longer there but had been replaced by some scary corporate stock image, I leaned forward in my chair. The font sizes were different, too and that's never a good sign.
Going from 1 to 60 on the agitation-ometer very quickly, I clicked away only to discover that everything had been wiped clean. Documents, photos--gone. The file folders were there but were empty and lots of invitations to "customize" things began popping up.
|Gotta love that|
I sat and stared, Zappos sandals temporarily forgotten. I immediately became angry at my husband. It had to have been him. I hadn't been online all day.
He's always trying to get me to throw stuff out around the house. When he gets too aggresive, I wait until he dozes off in the recliner, duct tape him down and force him to sit through several episodes of "Hoarders." This usually buys me a month or so before he starts in on me again.
By clearing all the clutter from the computer, he's taken control, punished me, shown me who's boss...but I calm down quickly; he would never do this. After all, his stuff is gone, too.
I go up to bed and talk to him softly through his closed lids. Seth can be totally asleep but hears everything that is said to him and will answer without waking. If you say something shocking or alarming, he will immediately wake and sit up.
Last night, the statement "All our computer files are gone" got a much quicker response than "I think there's a sasquatch in the backyard" (which I said with great sincerity last week) or the more tongue-in-cheek "Madonna's on the phone. She needs dancers for her next tour and wants to know if you're interested."
He sat up for this one, his tiny hands clutching the blanket in horror.
To make a long story shorter, Seth fixed it. He did something mysterious and magical and all our files were returned. I will ask him about it sometime but all I really care about is that my stuff is back.
Mark my words, people--one day there will be a solar flare from the sun that cause a worldwide power outage.
All all our stuff...medical records, manuscripts, schedules, applications, calculations, carefully compiled collections of vegetable porn*...will all be gone in a second. Back-up paraphenalia, as well as your set of rapid-heat, non-frizz hot rollers, will be useless because we will have returned to cooking possums over open fires in the woods.
This is why I rant about not forgetting about the enduring power of a pencil and paper. But, I, too -- judging by my nocturnal meltdown -- am as guilty as the next guy.
I am putting my collection of Buzzy pictures on a disk as we speak as well as printing out some important things that will go into an old fashioned manila folder in the old fashioned drawer of an old fashioned desk. There they will be in danger only when Seth goes on his next anti-hoarding crusade.
But, don't worry. I have the duct tape ready.
|Veggie porn (and you thought I was kidding).|