So after a month of waiting and hoping and begging I finally got my PC Express parallel port in UPS today. My new Dell notebook came without one as most notebooks are want to do these days. This left me in a bit of a bind as some of the older copiers I work on require a parallel port interface to update the software. Until now I had to carry two laptops with me, an old one with a parallel port and my new one which doesn’t look or perform like shit.

I’ve waited about a month for this card to come in. The release date got pushed back three times by the manufacturer Quatech. There products are rock solid but their release schedule leaves something to be desired. None of this would have even happened if somebody hadn’t had the bright idea to change the mobile expansion card standard when I wasn’t looking. Granted, the card is smaller which I like but I would have liked some hardware support for it before every bit of gear that I buy had the new standard.

I don’t know if anybody reading this is in to this kind of thing but here it is anyway.

Violet sent me to Hay House Radio a couple weeks ago. Violet sends me a lot of links that I bookmark and have every intention to go back to when I’m done with what I’m doing. Because I’m a horrible person I usually forget and get in trouble for it.

In any case after much prodding and forced listening I went back and subscribed to one of the podcasts. It has been a bit of an epiphany or at least the one and only podcast I’ve subscribed too. If you are of the new age-ish mindset then give it a listen or subscribe to a podcast. You have to sign up for the site which kinda sucks and you have to be using a security capable podcatcher but it’s worth it.

These posts look so good in my head. I have the words. I have the thoughts. I have everything I need to just sit down and write. But then I don’t. I log in to MT and click the “new entry” button and nothing. Any inspiration I had is now missing and I’m hating myself for it. So many things to say and no way to say it. Violet says that my emotions are locked away thus preventing me from feeling anything enough to get anything of a creative nature out. I’m beginning to see her point. But there I go again. I need not see the point, rather it must be felt. Or smelled. Or touched. Or tasted. Something other that seen or thought about. Dance. Feel the energy. Feel the flow of energy around me. Rewind, replay. Sounds like a fucking Livejournal post. Dating yourself. All the cool self loathing is on Myspace these days. I keep hoping the web will become conscious and smite Myspace from the face of the planet. Hating too much. That’s all my parents ever taught me was how to hate. That’s wrong, they also taught me how to work. Go to work every day. Never miss it. Never take a break. Never stop and smell the flowers so to speak. Plant them, care for them, make them look nice for visitors but don’t fucking touch them. Don’t speak to them. Stop talking to yourself. You’ve got nothing interesting to say. Go clean your room. Toys are for putting away not playing with. Be quiet. Watch your brothers again while we go out with friends. See our friends and how they abuse their children. Be thankful that we only make you feel worthless about yourself. We could be beating you as well, don’t you know. Go mow the lawn and rake the yard. Go to the private high school where you have only one friend. Sorry, no money for college. We spent it all on sending you to private school. Oh yeah and stuff we wanted. We might be able to help you go to the local community college. Schedule your classes for the morning so you can work in the afternoon. Oops, we need you in the morning now. Cancel all your classes. Schedule all your classes in the afternoon so you can be here in the morning. Oops, we need you in the afternoon and pretty much all day so schedule all your classes at night. Money? We don’t have any. You’ll have to pay for it. Oh yeah, we’ve been going through your mail. If you don’t want us to do that then you’ll need to move out. Not that we pay you enough to do that. Abuse? What abuse? It’s only abuse if we touch you. Shame and embarrassment builds character. With you gone we’ve been able to buy your brothers all the things you always wanted when you were young. You should be happy that we aren’t helping you at all. It’ll make sense when you’re older. Why are you so angry at us? Just because we never helped you with anything that mattered to you without making you feel bad about it doesn’t make us bad parents. It’ll make you tough like your father. He hasn’t felt an emotion since 1975.

Well.

Fuck.

Me.

All.

To.

Hell.