The Post That Never Was (But Is Now)

Recreating an eaten post might be difficult. I don't know, since this is my first. I'm usually a compulsive saver, ever since the Green Screen of Doom ate my term paper on Construction Materials way back in my 'college lite' days. Oh, it was a masterpiece on single-ply membrane roofing, it would have brought tears to your eyes. As I was putting the finishing paragraph on it, *PHOOMP* - the screen went dark, and 5 hours of work disappeared. At 1AM. The night before it was due. This was back when Commodore 64's were still available, and the 386 hadn't been invented yet. I did recompose the whole thing and aced it, but I had my lesson firmly in place, never lost any significant work over the years. Until yesterday. Anyway, on to a riveting description of a lazy Sunday at Spiffytown. I slept in, which is unusual for me. I awoke at the usual time (4:50 AM), thought a second, rolled over, and set to sawing new logs. It was glorious, snoozing well into the crisp white morning. There were dreams, weird and wild adventures full of corporate intrigue, nuclear explosions, and rescuing a damsel in distress (rawr!). The details are too fuzzy and surreal to describe here, since I've gone to the all-ages format. Finally around 8:30, I hauled my carcass off the flannel sheets and padded to the office, where I sipped hot coffee and caught up on some blog reading. Suddenly, it was time to go to church, and I made an executive decision: I'm staying home and playing hooky. I announced all my ambitious plans, which included some writing, a couple laps around the neighborhood, and finally installing the internet cable properly since it had warmed up (relatively speaking, since 20 degrees feels a lot warmer than minus 14). Mrs. Spiffy and the kiddos got dressed up and off they went. I finished some writing, did some reading, and moments later they were back. OK, not moments... 2 hours had passed and I was still in my captain's chair on the computer. Not a thing to show for it; I just couldn't get motivated when the snow was flying sideways past my window. I went upstairs to fix a feast of chicken and potatoes, but nobody was that hungry, so we went with grilled cheese for the kiddos and the leftover Biff dish for me (doctored up per Chachi's recommendation, good call!). Finally, in mid-afternoon I showered and got bundled up for the cold. I realized something yesterday as I stepped steaming from my tiled booth of boiling bliss - my day really doesn't start until I get my shower. I was rarin' to go, chock full of motivation and energy. I disconnected the internet, grabbed my tools, and trotted out into the frosty afternoon. My tired little drill was on the charge all weekend, but the cold had gotten to it and I had to twist it like a screwdriver to finish the last hole. The siding didn't shatter when I peeled it from the wall around the front door, and I did rejoice. I piled my coiled cable on the mini-porch and fed it through the wall, climbed into the trusses and walked it over to the cable box. Down through the wall plate, out the hole under the Source of Internet Goodness, and I was nearly done. As the last of the daylight oozed from the sky, I went to open the little plastic box. Which, by a stroke of brilliant foresight, is tucked 1/4 of the way behind my storage shed. And has a special fastener holding the box shut, to keep unauthorized persons out. I tried all of my allen wrenches, a needlenose pliers, a clear-handled screwdriver, and was contemplating the sawzall (Porter Cable Tiger reciprocating saw, to those who get a woody around real tools) when it finally became fully dark. It gets significantly colder when it turns dark in my neighborhood. Screwwit. I called Charter 3x, but so far have gotten no help. I may embarq on a full-on rant if it doesn't get turned around and quick. Boy needed me home last night to fix up the internet for his homework requirements, so I hurried off to save the day. Mrs. Spiffy had restrung the cable inside to the unused teevee outlet, as had been arranged before, but nothing was working. I arrived and Boy was busy on an art homework project, and couldn't be budged from the computer. I asked him what he so desperately needed the World Wide Web for, and he said... "To look up some words." Turns out he actually owns a dictionary. Has for years. Last night, he learned how to use it. My only major accomplishment from Sunday was getting a haircut. Now, I hate sitting for haircuts. Not sure why, but to be truthful I prefer the dentist. Needles and drills and funny smells and burning teeth don't bother me nearly as much as feeling my own prickly hair crawl down my shirt. Mrs. Spiffy has been my barber for most of the last 17 years, since she says 'Store-bought haircuts make you look like Frankenstein.' Hard logic to argue, since the wedding pictures all show a young Frankenstein in a white tux. So every once in a while, usually 3 weeks overdue, I'll get the supplies out, perch on a kitchen chair, and grit my teeth. This haircut was rather a rerun, which usually is good (if you like the way it went last time) but this was a repeat of an episode we had a few years ago. She's clipping away, and suddenly stops, eyes wide, and says, "Oh. Oh, crap. Now I gotta make the other side match." It's a little shorter than I prefer, but at least it's not wonky. I am noticing the grey-factor is increasing; the sides look as though 'clear' may actually be a hair color.