I am going through computer withdrawal. How did I, a dedicated Luddite who doesn't even know how to operate her own vacuum cleaner, end up being so dependent on a machine? The only thing that is keeping me going at all is my methadone--the system Husband has rigged up whereby I can still write Fiorella on his computer, although I have no idea whether or not she is hitting the airwaves.
Of course, I had been telling him for a couple of months that my computer was sick unto death, but he refused to believe me, saying it must be something I was doing or not doing. In all my pain, at least I can utter those sweetest of words: "I TOLD YOU SO!"