I'm feeling pretty technologically advanced blogging from my couch. I've always been at the desktop until now, so I can no longer say, "this is where the magic happens," about our office. Steve calls it an office, I call it a den. Apparently that is confusing. I guess dens are more like rec rooms, but for some reason, growing up, my parents called dad's office "the den," so I have picked up the incorrect meaning of the word.
Anyway, about being more mobile in my internet surfing, it's not as if I haven't had a laptop before. I believe this is our third. My first (R.I.P.) was Chip. I had Chip for four years of college where I mercilessly beat him to his grave between instant messaging for hours a day and downloading illegal songs from the undiscovered music sharing site du jour. I wrote all my papers in college on him, saved them to a floppy (yet hard - ironic) disc, and printed them out at the library. How retro.
We got another laptop before we got married (yet buying expensive appliances together - what difference does that marriage license really make?) before our eight hour drive to Denver. I'm never driving (or even passengering, for that matter) to Denver again. Why bother, when we can buy airline tickets for $125 anyway? So I spent at least ten minutes of that road trip on the computer, acting like I was about to write the next great American novel, but in reality, confessing my deepest sins to a journal entry.
My washer is spinning at the speed of sound, and I'm afraid our new house is about to blow to smithareens. In my head I just contemplated running outside with Tucker while we watch it blow up and collect the insurance money in 3-4 months. And I tell myself I don't have enough of an imagination to write a novel. I definitely don't have writer's block: I'll write blogs or poems, I'm just not up for any challenges that take perserverance.