[in which I type for five straight minutes stopping only when the timer goes ding]
So, a small miracle occurred today.
A brilliant tech guy came over and made our computer much, much cooler.
He had all his equipment, and tools, and stuff, and after he sat down at the desk I had to physically stop myself from hovering over him.
I wasn’t worried about what he might do, or see, or whatever. No, I had switched into hostess mode, inexplicably, and had the overwhelming urge to perform skits.
I got him a plate of cookies and a glass of water. I set the plate on a cloth napkin on the desk, placed the water carefully nearby and clamped my hand against my thigh so I wouldn’t pat him on the head.
Dear god. I’m destined to become one of those doddering old women who tries to feed everyone.
Well, not the old part. Not yet.
While he tinkered and moved mountains, I kept repositioning myself around the house. I didn’t want to appear invasive, but also wanted to be handy if he asked a question. I did a load of laundry. I hung out in the bathroom and examined my pores. I put away dishes. Finally, I settled at the dining room table with – oddly – the iPad and an actual pad of paper and a pen.
I scribbled down notes and checked my email. I felt jittery and excited, like when my cousins came to visit when I was a kid.
The guy was totally mellow and unobtrusive, but I kept heari