keyless

My computer is in the shop. The problem: overprotection. The culprit: a hard case I purchased on eBay before coming to India. This case, a slightly transparent brown, snaps one piece onto the top and one onto the bottom of the computer. Oh yeah, and the small print failed to mention this; it also warps the actual computer causing rows of pixels to turn red and green. Eventually I realized this, and now use the case as a sort of dust bin/ash tray, for which it is much better designed.

Moral: overprotection can backfire, even in India. I can't say for sure, but I doubt this applies to sexual mores as well.

I'm amazed at the difficulty I have in writing anything physically "down". Without a keyboard to pound on I can't seem to string together more than a few scattered notes. I imagine this is partially attributable to the dismal state of my handwriting, which I prefer not to remind myself of, but it's also something more, something greater than me or my handwriting, something to do with changing times and lifestyles and the future of the human race. But anyways, back to myself. I find writing slow and lugubrious, unable to keep up with my thoughts. To write an entire blog entry by hand, let alone a novel, seems at this point incomprehensible (especially the blog entry, when you think about it).

Sad how readily we shed the past sometimes, I think as I type, maybe I should just leave my computer in the shop...forever. Maybe a quill pen and a bottle of ink would grant me a level of profundity unattainable in this day and age. Maybe I should join the gang of neighborhood monkeys, itching and scratching. Maybe staring at screens isn't really all it's cracked up to be. I know for certain that staring at cracked screens isn't.