They call me Glitcherella. Well, they don’t actually, but they could. What better name for the tech loving writer forced to exist on byte crumbs fallen from the greedy maws of a data-draining world? This is pretty much literally true when I go to McDonald’s, my closest source of free wifi that’s still a 24 mile round trip away.

There’s a guy there at unpredictable times, who sits hunched over his laptop doing heaven knows what to suck up most of the available datastream.  The download speed is usually at least 40kbps, but when Data Vampire is there I’m left with the 3kbps crumbs fallen from his feast.

And that is the least of my ongoing technical difficulties. You see, I am technologically cursed. There must be a Silly Putty doll out there somewhere bristling with silicon needles, sealing my fate. Either that or the MS gods hear my muttered grumblings, and set about bestowing a pixelated pox upon me.

Over an alarmingly brief period of time, my previously paragon of an ISP has gone virtually useless, my ancient, faithful servant of a Toshiba laptop bit the dust, and my smartphone became less and less able to cooperate with the mobile web, while becoming more and more likely to brick. We won’t even get into the saga of my milquetoast of a netbook that is practically a doorstop cousin to my phone, the too often brick.

What’s a blogger to do? I just got a new laptop to start with. A real beauty of a Toshiba Satellite Pro Series, with enough bells and whistles to keep me happy for a long time. At a great price, no less. It’s unfortunately reduced to traveling the information cowpath, until I can resolve my internet issues…with a drastic switcheroo. So far “blazing” internet from our new cable provider seems the most likely salvation. It’s hard to decide from limited options, though you’d think fewer would simplify things. Not when every choice is flawed. Potentially fatally, meaning I could end up worse off than where I started.

For now I’m trying the Word Press app, which will hopefully make it easier to post from my phone…when I can get at the data I pay for, of course. Otherwise, until that great glorious day when all my cyber stars actually decide to line up in a pretty row, stick your head out a window periodically. You might see smoke signals sent up by a frustrated purple koala, dreaming of the 21st century while struggling to communicate from the information byways of circumstance, comedies of error, and cyber curses. 

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