Do you ever feel as if your body canít move, but your blood is coursing double-time? Perhaps you experience this lying on your couch on a beautiful Sunday afternoon: youíre inert, but inside, liquid stuff whooshes or slides or drips through your organs, moving around in your gut.
Does this sound insane to you? If so, never mind. Iíll talk about my computer problems instead.
This week, my Outlook Express (an email processer) decided that it would only open once ó right after I booted up. If I closed it and tried to reopen it, it said, ďNo way!Ē (Not really. Iím just dramatizing to make a point.) Nobody likes being told ďNo way!Ē so I was frustrated. In an attempt to repair the situation, I did many things, which I will not recount because they would bore you. According to the one prompt I was able to get during my repair attempts, my Outlook was no longer compatible with my system. None of my efforts to goose it back to compatibility worked, and finally I decided to dispense with Outlook altogether and deal with my email on hotmail.
I really like metaphors. How about you? Well, whether you do or donít, you still might enjoy my conclusion: I ďheardĒ from the foregoing saga that my outlook is no longer working. Ergo, Iím changing it. Iím doing many things to do that, which I will not recount because they are far too personal and, in my experience, personal gunk is only of interest to the gunkee, and I donít want to bore you.
Changing my outlook has been as complicated as psychic surgery, so lying on my couch inert, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps ó like my computer ó the reason Iím not my usual peppy self is that Iím installing. I deleted the old outlook, Iíve downloaded a new one, and just like those prompts that come up after youíve done all that on your computer ó during which time, all functions halt ó Iím installing. And maybe thatís the sensation of stuff coursing through my organs.
Iím lucky. I live with a dog who doesnít nag me to get off the couch. But if youíre not so lucky, I do suggest this as an explanation for why you canít get off the couch on a beautiful Sunday afternoon: ďIím sorry, honey, but Iím installing.Ē