I am so glad I can....now. I have had several great posts that were profound and deep (or maybe they were stories of the things my kids do that make me wonder what kind of geniuses we are raising around here). No matter the content, I could not write them. Every time I tried, I was faced with a blank screen. Being the computer savvy person that I am, I complained to my husband to please fix it, soon. He suggested that it might be caused by our filter we have to block out all the internet nastiness. Not believing him, I sat here for days, wishing I could get into my blog. Today I finally summoned the courage to call tech support and admit defeat and in less than two minutes, he had my computer problem solved.
Makes me wish there was a tech support line for life and all its questions.
Here is what I wanted to tell you about:
Bright and early this morning, way before I would normally get up, I was ready to head out the door to take my glucose tolerance test. You know, where you chug this disgustingly sweet drink and then wait for an hour to have them stab you with a needle and check your blood. Fun stuff I tell you. The worst part is, I usually fail this test and have to go back for the three hour version. As I was sitting there, waiting for the clock to tick away the minutes, knitting and keeping to myself, I was actually interested in what the television was blaring. On CNN, they were interviewing a professor from Notre Dame about the healthcare issue and why the university decided to sue the government, along with forty-some other Catholic institutions. As soon as the nurse heard the word Catholic, she came running from behind the desk, and changed the channel with the explanation, "Let's see if we can find a better news station." We were then subjected to Paula Dean cooking a whole chicken perched atop a beer can. So much better, don't you agree? I felt my brain cells leaking out of my ears. I was mad, but I did nothing. What could I do? What should I have done?
I try to avoid confrontation at all costs. I am not good at confrontation. I get tongue-tied and end up not making my point. I end up having a panic attack. Not good at all. Oh, to be able to eloquently let others know my stance on this issue. Or better yet, to have the guts to say "I would like to watch this interview." Instead, I returned to my knitting, smiled politely when my name was called and then chit-chatted with the nice lady who drew my blood and left.
What would you braver souls have done?