One should hardly call it a blip when it becomes more apparent by the day that this is the way one lives ones life. But a blip is what it was and a blip is what I’m calling it.
Part of my 2011 resolve to betterment involved a commitment to blogging here daily and I think you would agree I was doing pretty well until Monday and then boom! my computer died and every last little bit of lovely data inside it dissolved. Which is obviously not the technical term for what happened, but hey ho, we couldn’t even get a copy of Windows to live in this dear little box and Richard had to take it away and administer tender loving care and decipher mean error messages until silly o’clock in the morning two nights on the run while I paced the living room like a Daddy in waiting shut out of the delivery room, wringing my hands and questioning my ability to keep my operating system/baby free from the kind of virus that endangers it’s life.
Anyways. The long and the short of it is that my computer died and things looked a little hairy for a while but after being slapped around the chops on numerous occasions by Richard who told me I was getting “hysterical”, all is well and the road to a better me is once again lined with all the tickety boo things I have to offer it.
But it got me thinking. On Monday when I sensed something drastic was about to happen to my laptop I went into a back up frenzy. Making copies of this, that and the other just in case my existing rather slip shod record keeping rituals were about to leave me high and dry. And while today has been lost to re-installing all manner of apparently essential oojameflips (Can you tell I’m tired? I’ve started substituting the words I can’t think of with made up nonsense), only a few images I can always collect again have slipped through my fishnet stockings.
But what if there had been no warning? What would I have lost then? All the photographs of Finley from this year? Hours of work on the BrocanteHome downloads I haven’t yet published? Accounts? You name it, poof, it all would have gone up in the big bang. And then where would I have been? Up the swannie without a paddle as my Dad would say.
I spend a silly amount of time searching when I should be treasuring. Much of my day drifts by in a relentless hunt for the next thing likely to send me giddy: that which is bigger and better than before. I’m not sure I have really learned to value what already is: to protect it, or honour it with proper insurance or religious record keeping. I suffer from the most outrageous case of the “Oh, I’ll do it tomorrow’s” and have long perpetuated the most casual of attitudes to that which I should hold dear, if only for the sake of not causing myself one disaster after the next…
All this from the woman who writes Trash It or Treasure It. She whose priorities blow out the window in the face of another frilly tablecloth or pretty blog. She who cloud hops from one blip to the next.
Yet another thing to add to the list of must do betters methinks!