Peanut Butter in Horrendously Large Quantities

I started off this particular morning trying, for the tenth time, to download Adobe software. After sitting mesmerized by the little green blocks that supposedly meant that something magical was happening in my computer, and after downloading all 537,235,321 bytes of data (which took no less than 2.5 hours of starts and restarts), I found after a single mouse click that I had downloaded NOTHING. I will not bore you with the details of how originally I mistakenly threw away the serial license and have been spending the last month debating whether I should make yet another call to Adobe or simply procure a copy of photoshop elements from a fellow academic that shall remain nameless.

After my failed download (and after my daughter’s early morning revelation: “I think somone’s breath stinks—and I think it’s YOU mommy!”) I was completely demoralized. So, I went upstairs to my bedroom, GMP (please email me for the meaning of this acronym, or don’t if you’re especially clever with acronyms) and laid there, contemplating the nature of life and the universe. I realized that although in general I suck, I would probably suck less if I kept myself busy. I mean, forget working smarter, making lists, all of that. I’m back at the bottom of the staircase. I just need to be doing SOMETHING.

So, I watched two episodes of House while whittling down ONE of my email accounts from 200 messages to forty. I then had two minicans of diet coke with my turkey and provolone sandwich (lettuce, tomato, onion, thin layer of mayonnaise and Edmund Fallot Dijon Mustard) and watched some of Woody Allen’s “Melinda and Melinda.” Once upon a time, shortly after he married his stepdaughter, I vowed never to watch any of Allen’s movies. Apparently the statute of limitations on that vow expired today at 1:12pm. Oh well.

I then decided to learn how to work one of my digital cameras (see picture above, of my "home office"). This, after directing a digital storytelling program for two years and having the kids (most under the age of 12) show ME how to operate the cameras. It’s about time, don’t you think? I mean, how long should a woman really go without moving beyond autofocus?

The purpose of this post is to prove that I am able to reach beyond my depression and actually do something productive. I think a martini is in order. Either that, or peanut butter in horrendously large quantities.