I feel utterly strung out and exhausted today. I've had far too many emails and spent far too much time online. "It's a time-suck," one of my friends says about the computer. Normally, it's great -- getting away from the mundane to write and converse and read and laugh.
I got a couple of really angry emails today -- not about the election but about some sort of cockamamie mix-up at school with over-zealous volunteer mothers. Turbo-mothers is what I call them. And it's a fine line that sometimes separates me from them. But it's a line, nonetheless. I'm a formidable typist, capable of way, way over 100 words a minute. I have high finger dexterity according to the career profile I received during my senior year in high school. I also had a high Idea-a-phoria number which basically means that I can write down a whole lot of words, rapidly, without stopping. And I think that's why I get in trouble on the computer. I think I can type as fast as I can think. When I learned how to type in ninth grade, we used Manual Typewriters. Yep. I still remember how difficult it was to really press down that "p" with your right pinkie.
But I was good. Still am. Except that now I can type and send as fast as I can think. And that's dangerous.
I'm thinking about moving into a cave for a little while and burning some incense. Like this one in Turkey:
Or this one: