I am miserable. I haven't ridden my Royal Enfield motorcycle in weeks.
Life, as they say, has intervened.
Only in small ways, fortunately. I am healthy, for my age. My immediate family is not in crisis, although there are some health challenges ahead.
Officially I don't even "work." I am "retired."
Some retirement. The list of duties is laughably small, but it's enough to be distracting.
It's summer; the yard needs tending. The barbecue grill is out of gas. My wife thinks the air conditioner is failing. Friends came over for lunch (a welcome diversion).
My mailbox is crammed with pleas for help from organizations that aid people facing starvation, or death from disease or missile attack. What right have I to complain?
And yet, I do.
I know that it is me who is making me miserable. I'm focusing on the wrong stuff.
My key problem is the struggle with technology and modern "conveniences." In the process I have virtually managed to derange my entire digital life as I flounder with online apps, sign-on protections, and general paranoia.
Today I had to admit to myself that I am no longer really a motorcyclist. I am a motorcycle blogger who spends time he should be riding instead wrestling with the internet.
Yesterday's hassle, with my "domain provider," left me unsure whether I still have a domain (although I paid for it), how safe it is, and what its password might be?
Last night I dreamed I was back in college, with an essay due at a 10 a.m. class. All I could do was bash out a plea for more time on the back of a menu from a Chinese restaurant, using a broken typewriter. I began running, barefoot, across campus to deliver it, knowing I would be late and the teacher would refuse.
For some reason the path I was running on was ankle deep in water. I never got to class.
That's what it's like, for me, dealing with the internet!
Luckily I know the cure. All I have to do is ride my motorcycle.
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