For reasons I can’t explain (partially because I am not a programmer or scam artist?), I receive an influx of SPAM comments whenever I don’t write for several days in a row. This means that even though I’m not writing, I still get e-mails alerting me of comments, and because comments usually mean readers and most of my readers (or at least readers who comment) are friends, I get a little bit excited every time I open one of these messages.
Or maybe it’s that the WordPress SPAM filter fails harder whenever I don’t write for several days in a row, because the excitement I feel when I’m opening the messages is met with a bilious disappointment when I’m forced to read another insane, English-as-sixth-language ad for “Perkoset” or “Vigara.” Which is usually also an ad for factory surplus watches, purses, and sometimes also also a bizarre existential paragraph about self-help philosophy.
SPAM is nothing if not far-reaching.
I haven’t written in several days because we’ve been moving. I mean, you know this, obviously you know this, it’s all I’ve been writing about for the past month. But we’ve now moved, we’re completely in the new house and out of the old one, and the only bummer is that we don’t have Internet at the new house yet so I’m reduced to reading books or setting fires or whatever, I don’t know, what is this, 1800?
I’m snagging Internet time where and when I can, and hopefully either Clear fixes their service or we just sell our souls to Comcast for Internet and cable…like, by Wednesday at the latest. But cable! Cable, you guys! Can you imagine? Like the second story, laundry room, half bathroom, and dishwasher in our new place, cable is one of those things that has come to feel like an unspeakable luxury to me, and having it will make me feel like the goddamn queen of what is currently a discarded cardboard palace.
If this happens, then you can all look forward to me throwing my fatness reduction plans out the window (at least on weekends) and getting shithammered in front of the Food Network while I tell Twitter about how much sweatier Guy Fieri seems today. In the meantime, I won’t have time to fuck around with Internet or TV, because the next few nights are dictated by to-do lists, the scope of which will have our new place completely squared away by next weekend at the latest. The sooner our place can be clean, the better. The sooner we can have people over for dinner, the betterer. The sooner I can sit on my ass with cable and my laptop and no cardboard anywhere and finally know that there’s no more work to be done, the betterest.