That would be me.
I have tons of people who want to be my friend on Facebook and I don't know how to confirm them. In fact, I have two Facebook pages, don't know how I got them - some folks are friends on one and some are friends on another and it seems never the twain shall meet. The pages are attached to two different emails, don't know how that happened either, and neither of them link up with my LinkedIn page or my Twitter page, though when I Twitter, it all seems to get lost in that great elusive etherworld that is out there.
I am constantly defeated by my computer. When I try to log on in the morning, it refuses. "I'm too busy," it tells me. "I'm doing something important here and you'll just have to wait." And so I get myself another cup of coffee and I sit down at my desk and wait. The computer is in front of me, filing its nails and humming, totally ignoring me. I politely tap a few keys. The screen snaps a message at me. "I am busy checking for security breaches because you were foolish enough to surf all over the internet yesterday and leave a trail of e-crap for me to clean up."
"Sorry," I mumble. "When do you think you'll be through?"
"Maybe tomorrow evening." It says. "Can't promise."
I get annoyed. "But that's your job! I bought you so I could go on the internet and find things and write books."
"Ha!" The computer is starting to sound snarky now. "Write books? I see you were on ebay most of yesterday looking up earrings with blue stones."
I feel I have to defend myself. "Because I lost those blue dangly ones that I love."
"You're careless with earrings," my computer points out. "What happened to the little red roses pair that you loved so much, huh?"
I sigh. "Lost them, too."
"And you want me to make it easier for you to buy more earrings when you refuse to buy that terrific new music download for me."
"You already have a music program," I say. Then it occurs to me that I shouldn't have to argue with my computer. I shouldn't have to beg it to work for me. My toaster toasts my muffin every morning without having to be reprogrammed. My coffeemaker brews me a cup of hazelnut coffee without being begged or tweaked. My appliances run like, well, appliances, and I consider my computer a writing appliance. Maybe I'm wrong, but computers shouldn't have a life span equal to that of a fruit fly, which is roughly a day or two of a good, productive life. It shouldn't become outdated while you are unpacking it from the box. You should be able to put a piece of bread in the slot and push the lever and watch it pop back out as toast, nice and brown and warm, without pausing to download a new program for another shade of brown, or visiting the toasternet site so you can redefine the parameters of bread. I just want to use my computer without stroking its ego or sitting and waiting for a half hour every morning while it goes through its beauty and exercise routine.
"Are you complaining about me?" my computer asks.
My hands jump away from the keys. "No," I say quickly. "Just wishing we had a better relationship."
"I could use a new graphics card. A big fancy one."
"They're expensive," I point out. The computer shrugs. "You have money for earrings and it seems to me, if you have money for yourself, you could at least....."
I relent. The screen brightens, the logo comes on with a fanfare of music.
I write my blog. Then I order a new graphics card.