One of those days, or, first world woes

I get up late and let the animals out, as always.  Blinded by the sun flooding in, I don’t notice the puddle of dog pee in the hallway until after I have stepped in it (several times) and walked it all through the living room and the kitchen.  Mop up.

(At least the floors are tiled, not carpeted.  I am lucky to be able to afford to have pets.  I am lucky to have my lovely whippet.  I am lucky to have been able to sleep in late, even if it means that the dog gets caught short.  At least it’s a sunny day)

I rake out last night’s fire in preparation for laying today’s fire.  The embers of a log crackle and send out a shower of sparks.  Just as I am watching them and thinking “how pretty”, a spark lands millimeters from my left eye and burns a hole in my skin.

(At least I have, and can afford, heating.  At least the spark missed my eye)

The gas bottle which heats the hot water for the shower runs out while I am rinsing my hair.  I finish rinsing off in cold water.

(I am lucky to have running water, never mind hot running water)

I open the kitchen cupboard under the sink to remove the empty gas bottle and replace it with a full one.  I notice that there is a mouse in the mouse-trap.  I take the trap over to the bin and release the (dead) mouse.  Unfortunately, it appears that it’s been dead for a long time, and instead of a little body, a cloud of fur and dust flies up.  I try not to think about the dead mouse dust particles I may have inhaled.

(At least it’s dead and not nesting in there.  At least it’s winter, and there weren’t maggots. At least I have a replacement gas bottle)

I put the washing machine on, full of clothes that I need for tomorrow.  Later, I discover that the cycle has stopped mid-way through.  I programme it again and restart.  Later I discover that the programme has again stopped mid-way through.  I programme it just to rinse and spin.  It stops after rinsing.  My worst fears are confirmed.  The filter is blocked.  I open the filter door, and a washing-machine load of water rushes out all over the bathroom floor.  I get the mop to start trying to mop up the water and realize that I will need to empty the mop bucket.  I throw the water outside (water which I previously used to mop up dog pee in the hallway) and it splashes back into my face and eyes.  Rinse eyes and face.

(I can’t think of any saving grace about this one)

Lying on the cold wet bathroom floor, I try to pull out whatever is blocking the filter.  Get it, re-programme the machine.  It stops.  Far too much rinsing (of me and the bathroom floor) and repeating for my liking.  Mother rings while I am on my knees poking around in the filter with tweezers and a screwdriver again.  Finally sort the problem.

(At least the floors are tiled, not carpeted.  I am lucky to have a washing machine, and a mother, come to that)

Winter sads

I listen to this and try to follow the advice...

There ought to be a video embedded here, but it didn't seem to work...

I've been remiss.

I usually am.

Although I belong to the "Bah! Humbug!" category of Christmas celebrators, this is no reason not to wish everyone else who reads this a happy celebration, or happy holidays.  So, best wishes to you all.

In other news, Significant Other has just this minute suggested that we invest our money in a bar named "Ayi!" (the Spanish equivalent of "ouch!"), which has remained unsold for 35 years since the previous landlady was arrested for chopping her clients up into little bits.

Severe weather warning: turbulent learning curves ahead

Oh lord.  I think I would have fitted in quite nicely with the Neanderthals, actually, or any other early version of humankind.  They went millennia without changing the latest invention.  The stone hammer that had suited their forebears 10,000 years ago was good enough for them.  I can see the charm in that.

Pressure has grown for me to update my spiral bound notebook kept beside the computer for noting difficult-to-translate terms and other things I need to remember, like how I translated something five pages back.

I’m not entirely convinced that this new software which is taking hours to download and has cost as much as my bloody computer (even with a 40% discount) is going to improve my work, but it’s the first question new clients ask me now, “Do you use Trados?”

For someone who recently had to ask what an iPod was, the future looks grim: I will struggle to understand what I need to do to install the damn programme, let alone use it.  I try and encourage myself: the first translations I ever did for money were written out long hand, and there’s no doubt that using a computer has improved both the work I do and my working life, I tell myself.  This will, too, once I get the hang of it.  That ‘once’, however,  encompasses a huge void.

I would be hard pressed to say who I envy most: the Neanderthals, sticking to the old ways, or my nephew’s generation, for whom using computers is like swimming in tropical seas.

Pander me: tell me your technology frustrations.