Some of us are trying to work. You know work? That thing that you do, at that place, and they pay you for it?
For me, “that thing” happens to be writing, editing, planning, and researching.
“That place” happens to be at my dining room table, until I make my move out West in a couple of weeks.
It’s too bad that nobody is going to pay me for anything if I can’t do those things at that place, and I can’t do anything IF YOU KEEP KICKING ME OFF THE INTERWEB.
It keeps happening, and every time it does, I get this little message that says my remote connection has been terminated. What, Comcast, you’re firing me from the Internet? And then, when I sign back on, there’s a smug little note that says “Congratulations” but no exclamation mark (excited punctuation is the difference between smug and sincere, in case you were wondering) welcoming me back, only to kick me off again.
I’m tired of it, Comcast. I’m tired and stressed out and my heart just can’t take it anymore.
And I blame you.
Because my crazy emotions are certainly not the fault of all the coffee and the Twizzlers.
That much, I’m sure of.
I have to go do that thing now, at the place, 10 feet from here.
Let’s just hope somebody pays me for it.