The Two Hundred and Ninety-Ninth Post: The One Where I Came Perilously Close to Being Social and Suicidal in the Span of Three Days… (part two)

Hello, all — I’m just gong to pick up from where I left off with me getting everything out of the Z: drive (still can’t find the pictures or the Art Bell Files on the Y: drive, but that’s not important) and getting out to the local copier place to get everything printed, stapled and shiny for Saturday.  At that point, I was trying to consider my options as far as traffic.

Where I live is not really all that convenient for travel.  I am smack dab in the middle of two Interstate Highways.  At the copiers, I was just two blocks away from I-65.  Getting on it would be a straight shot (somewhat) down to work, but that particular highway was alway congested like you wouldn’t believe.  The route I take to work normally is a little twisty and roundabout, but the streets are relatively open for me (with the exception the on again / off again merger of I-64 and I-65. When it gets choked up…make no plans).  The downside for Friday as I’m getting everything printed and stapled is that I’m quite a distance away from the usual route to work.  Also keep in mind that I still haven’t had anything for lunch, so my judgement is a little wobbly.

I figure that I can go on ahead and take my normal route to work, since I pass by a couple of gas stations, it’ll be no problem to get something quick to eat.  I pay for the papers and head out to the car.  I’ve got everything I need for work (cell phone, iPad and dinner).  Paying for everything, I head out the door.  Since I thought I was going to have more time in the afternoon than I would in the morning, I’ve already showered and shaved (I usually  wait until an hour before I need to leave).  I hop in the car and drive for the Interstate.  Over the radio, I hear that there is a very bad tie-up on I-65 on one of the bridges.  I’m heading in a different direction, and I am doing so as quickly as I can.

I get through the shopping area and zip by the gas stations.  It doesn’t hit me that I need to get something to eat until I make the turn onto the Interstate.  Now it’s too late to turn around, so I’ll just have to get to work as quick as I can and get something there.

Let me quickly explain how the typical driver in Kentucky drives:

  • It’s not a speed limit, but a speed guideline.
  • Right-of-way is determined by the mass of the vehicle you drive, or how willing you are to risk life and limb to make that merge.
  • Looking before crossing lanes is considered unsporting.

I can get an idea as to whether or not I’m going to be badly late by what I’m driving by before 5:30 pm.  If I pass the train tracks by the finger nail polish plant (they don’t make finger nail polish, but that’s what the place smells like) around 5:30, then I’m going to be there on time.  If I’m passing the airport, then I’m going to cut it close.  It’s 5:35 and I am now just crossing the bridge.  Yeah.  I’m gonna be late.

The best thing I can do right now is goose my engine to move up to eighty miles an hour and stay in the right lane.  However, in a moment inspired by low blood sugar, desperation and not paying attention, I found myself drifting towards the middle of the road.  Missing an exit would put me even later.  I had to cross two lanes of traffic very soon.  The only thing that’s keeping me from making the crossover is a slow truck dragging a mowing tractor.  I can’t speed up to go around him, because every time I try to move forward to get around the car on my right, he slows down.  So, I do what I have to do.

I slow down, peer over my shoulder quickly, goose the engine and cross the two lanes of traffic going eighty-five in a fifty-five…ish sort of zone.  To my amazement, when I go over the painted off section and cut in front of a car with only a half-car length to spart — I don’t kill everyone involved.  I press down on the gas some more to give the guy behind me some more room.  As I creep into the low nineties, I see the “check engine” light come on.  Not a little ‘dude, you might want to get me checked’.  It was the ‘Scotty screaming at me that she cannae take the strain, Captain as my hair’s on fire’ red light.  I keep looking from the light, to the speedometer which I am trying to ease back down to sub-light to the traffic ahead.  By some miracle, the engine stays in the car and the usual choke point here is flowing free.  Slowing down, I creep into the exit lane.  Thanks to my daring heroics, I think I’m going to be merely two minutes late.

Wow — it’s beginning to look like that the telling of the weekend is going to be longer than the weekend itself.  I will continue on with tomorrow.  I’m also going to talk about my upcoming sci-fi project which I am calling “The Mind of Man”.  I’m just going to try to hash out somethings online here.  Hopefully it won’t be too burdensome.

Thanks for reading, and I hope to see y’all tomorrow.


Seething Apathy

The Two Hundred and Ninety-Ninth Post: The One Where I Came Perilously Close to Being Social and Suicidal in the Span of Three Days… (part one)

Hello, everyone — sorry for the late entry, but I have had an action packed, frustrated weekend.  I learned quite a bit over the past three days.

On Friday, I had a minor panic that reminded me that I need to backup all my important files (writing, music, cat pictures).  I have a wireless drive that I put all my stuff on because I had problems with previous hard drives.  I thought I was being clever in storing it offline.  Yeah — fast forward a couple of years and I discover Spotify, so I think that I’ll just post all my music files (all 113 Gb) up there.  So I go to my Z: drive which houses all my music and writing and start loading the files.  No problem.  As I look through the loaded files, I see some things that aren’t really for public consumption.  So I discontinue the upload, going about my merry way.  Speed forward past a few days and I want to get into the Z: Drive so I can print something for my writer’s group.  I double click on the ‘computer’…

No Z: drive.  No Y: Drive (has my photography files and Art Bell .mp3s).  No X: Drive (some .gif files and my computer files backup).  Nothing.  I don’t panic because I’ve had this happen before.  I lean over my desk and power cycle the drive — turn it off and turn it back on thirty seconds later.  85% of the time, this solves it.

God rolls an 87 on the percentile dice.

I still don’t panic.  I turn off and turn on the router.  Nothing.  I restart the PC.  More Nothing.  I unplug the computer and plug it back in going through a hard reboot.  I have a plate of nothing, with a side of nothing and a tall, cool glass of dammit, nothing.  OK, I start to panic a little.  I’m not concerned (greatly) about the music.  I still have all my CDs, so I can just re-rip stuff, re-download from places where I purchased them.  I am way more concerned about the file labeled ‘Writing’.  Everything — rough drafts, final copies, notes, playlists — was in that file.  I have very limited sorts of back-ups for that.  Notes on several blank books, what I can remember, but other than that — if I can’t get to the Z: drive and that writer’s files…I’m done.  The only things that I can call back are the finished and formatted versions of my books because I stored them online.

Monday through Thursday, this wouldn’t have been a big problem.  I would have just gone on with the rest of my day and tried to fix it at night.  However, it was Friday — I needed to still print copies of my first novel selection and get gas for the car and possibly get some lunch.  My computer had a different agenda for me.  It was mostly cursing, begging — the whole five stages of death done in about 3 hours.  I kept clicking on the disk manager, the file manager and every other manager I could get feverish access to by mouse.  I am panicking right now just because I’m going to be late for work if I don’t leave right now.

Miracle of miracles, I clicked on the right thing and got a prompt for my hard drive on the wireless network.  Huzzah!  I can get to it through that!

Or I could if I remembered the name and password I gave that it.  I think I just let it have the default password which I don’t remember.  Before all of this (and I think Spotify has something to do with this, it was working fine before I uploaded the files) I never needed to log in, it showed up in my computer as the labeled drives.  Password?  I have no idea.  I uninstall and reinstall the drivers for the dashboard.  Still asking for a password.  Did I use the default password?  I don’t know.  I click on the dashboard — maybe there is something that I can do.

Create New User?  I click on that little tucked away button on the dash board.  What’s the worst that can happen now?

User Name?  I type in my first name (which I never use).

User Password?  I type in my usual password.

Grant new user admin rights (view and change files)?  Hell, yes!

I go back to the main dashboard and login under my new name.  I don’t see the X:, Y: or Z: drive, but I do see the folders marked “Writing”, “Music” and “Daughter of the Mountain” (The sequel to this book).  I just had installed a new hard drive that I was going to use as more storage.  A bunch of clicks later, I was moving files from the recently liberated Z: drive to the J: drive.  I open up my writing program and try to get to the project.  The relief that I felt was almost tear-inducing.  I copy and paste the first 2,000 words to a word document file for printing.  I can breathe again.  I can get the file printed and copies.

I can also be ten minutes late to work from all this.  That’s OK — I’m good for now.

That was the beginning of the weekend for me.  Next time — I become social!  Drinks!  Dinner!  Panic Attacks!

Tune in!


Seething Apathy