The exercise:
Write about: the giraffe.
So apparently the lightning strike managed to not only mess up our cables and router (conveniently fixable by the tech who dropped by this afternoon) but also wrecked the laptop's ethernet card / doohickey / whatever (not so conveniently requiring internal laptop repairs).
So now I've dug a wireless router out of storage and I'm using that to connect to the internet, as apparently the laptop's wireless whatever still works fine.
Yay, technology!
Anyway. Harvested an order for the restaurant this morning before delivering it and running some errands in town this afternoon. Got a few things done around the house this evening, all of which I'd been putting off for days. Possibly weeks.
Tomorrow we're getting a head start on the market pick, which will hopefully make Friday a little more manageable.
Also hopefully: the forecast for Saturday is totally wrong.
Mine:
Walking across the plains
Upon legs like stilts;
From sunrise to sundown,
His pace never wilts.
Destination unknown?
Doesn't bother me.
I will follow his lead...
Till it's time to eat.
2 comments:
Lightning can have rather unpredictable effects on electronic equipment. If you've only lost the ethernet card you've gotten off quite lightly I think. And it sounds like you've got everything working again, even if it's not quite the same set-up as before :)
What is the forecast for Saturday, by the way?
I fear your narrator has forgotten that giraffes eat from much higher up than he does and he'll be going hungry, but he's entertained me in the meantime and that's all I care about :) It's a very jolly poem!
The giraffe
Charles Asciugimento, Head of Building Security, stood in the Mall lobby and considered the sculpture. It was entitled Giraffe in Effigy, but as far as he could see it was just a column of twisted steel with some odd holes in here and there. He walked around it completely, seeing if perhaps a different angle would cause it to resolve itself into a giraffe somehow, but it didn't. He was slightly disappointed.
"Are you comfortable, Syrah?" he asked, speaking apparently to the sculpture.
"No Sir," came a voice, slightly muffled, from somewhere inside the tortured steel plates. "There's always something digging in, no matter how I twist."
"Good," said Charles with brutal simplicity. "This way you can't fall asleep in there." He took out his phablet and made a note that all the snipers were to be plus-size security guards. "You can clearly still breathe as you're talking. What's your view like?"
"Good," squeaked Syrah. "I can even get a sight on some of the babies in the prams."
"They are becoming a nuisance," mused Charles. "Excellent. I think this giraffe will pay for itself in no time at all."
"Uh, ...sir?" said Syrah. Hearing no response, she continued, "How can finding a security-sniper position be profitable?"
"There are always undesirables," said Charles, his voice honeyed but still cruel.
Greg - yeah, I'm definitely glad it wasn't the whole computer that got knocked out.
I was writing the narrator as a lion, actually. So he shouldn't mind how tall the giraffe is :)
Ah, the poor employees who find themselves working for Charles. I do feel rather sorry for the lot of them...
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