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Copyright © 2002-4 Celine the Rambling Queen. All rights reserved.
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I killed it, and now it's dead. It served me well, yet I snapped its little face with no forethought. It was so easy, yet so deadly.
Yes, friends, I killed my Palm.
I broke the screen, actually. The inside part, not the outer plastic. I was coming out of the bathroom with the Palm in my hand, and that hand hit the door nob, causing me to drop the Palm. I think I may have actually hit the Palm on the door nob, but I'm not sure. I didn't think much of it at first, because, quite frankly, I've dropped my Palm more times than I can count. But this time, I actually broke the darn thing.
It's out of warranty and is an older model, so I'm thinking getting a new one is the best option. I very spiffy friend and bard has offered to help me out there with a loan, so hopefully it won't be long before I'm back in business. But for now, I'm depressed, and am going through severe Palm withdrawal.
I can't even take a bath without being sad. After all, I used my Palm in there! And when I went to the bathroom, and when I watched TV, and when I went to bed, and when I waited in doctors' offices, and when I was bored, and when I didn't want to think, and when I had to wait in line somewhere, and when... well, I used it quite often, really.
Ironically, I had just rediscovered my leather belt pouch thing for my Palm the other day. It was hiding behind my bed. But I hadn't started using it again... and now, it's too late.
So, for now, I'll have to occupy myself with The Great Celine's Bedroom Rearrangement Experience. My brother, bless his wiring know-how and decent muscle strength, helped me not only fix a bad power outlet in my room (translate, he fixed it, I held the flashlight), he also helped me move my entirely too large desk, and my entirely too heavy bed frame. So now I have a completely new arrangement of furniture, and a lot of stuff in boxes in the other room, waiting for me to come sort through them.
I've had boxes waiting for me for years. I guess it's time I actually did something with them. It had become an interesting design fixture in my room to have a pile of boxes sitting in the corner and closet, with who knows what in them, stacked haphazardly, sometimes getting knocked over by a cat or a dog, sometimes being opened so I could look for something or other... but, mainly, just being left there, all alone, waiting.
Now they're all sitting in the living room, being kept company by boxes of Christmas decorations which have yet to be carted out to the garage. It's good to know they aren't alone any longer. It does a heart good.
I've discovered some interesting things in some of those boxes. One is a picture of "Weird Al" Yankovic and his band from his Bad Hair Day tour, so all the guys in the picture have really bad hair. I can't imagine why I haven't put that up on my wall yet.
A couple of other things I've found -- my odes to Thanksgiving. Have you ever pondered the severe lack of Thanksgiving-themed songs? We have many, many Christmas songs, some Halloween songs, etc., but when it comes to Thanksgiving, we are woefully lacking.
Well, I stepped in to fill that void. I know, you're impressed. I wrote it when I was a teenager. I would use my youth as an excuse as to why it's so bad, but I can't say I've really improved since:
Then there's a lovely little Thanksgiving story I wrote, written at the same time I wrote the song above:
*sniff* Isn't it a beautiful story? So heart wrenching, with such depth and characterization? Yeah, I didn't think so.
In closing, how about a couple of actual talk show topics?
Jerry Springer
I Had a Lesbian Threesome With My Mom
(Well, ewwwwwww!)
Jerry Springer
My Cheap Mother Forced Me Into Prostitution
(And here I thought working at a fast food place was a good after-school job... silly me!)