The telephone and its appendage have not been working, and sent me messages on its handy little screen telling me that things were not right. So I did a bit of a fiddle, and tested this and that, and neither worked. Right, I thought, I will go down to the shop and tell them that these things which I bought only a few months ago, need to be replaced.
Oh no, they don't do things like replace equipment. They just sell stuff. I had to ring Technical Support, and talk to someone far far away with an accent difficult to understand, talking about things equally incomprehensible. I sulked off home, and tried the one telephone in the house that inexplicably worked, but somehow or other, the person on the other end of the phone lost the connection and failed to ring back. This meant I had to try again, and not give way to the full gamut of fragility. And technical woes make me want to scream and rant. And I did a bit of that, too.
Eventually I got through to a person who has organised for a technician to come tomorrow and check both inside and outside. I live in hope. All of this took two hours, during which I could have done things which were far more pleasant and interesting.
Why is it that technical hassles are so stressful? They make me weep and rant. These are not logical reactions, although understandable. They seem to represent aspects of life which are out of our control but which purport to be essential, significant, and an everyday part of life. Do the problems make us feel abnormal? I suspect in my case this is so. This evening I still feel quite wiped out by it all. I could burst into tears again at any minute.
Most of the rest of the day was spent getting myself to the specialist and having my annual check for breast cancer. All is fine. The most stressful thing was to find a parking spot and then to discover how little change I had. In fact the meter had expired 15 minutes before I got back to the car. Atleast I did not get a parking ticket. Expecting the long wait, I took lots of things to do. The iPad, and the book about the iPad. Some crochet. And pen and paper, to start preparing for the Italian class on Wednesday - it being my turn to write something. Now usually I travel equipped with several pens, but this time with only one. The pen ran out. This was most aggravating, as I was on a compositional roll. Now I have writer's block.
Generally with these check ups you get sent off for a mammogram, but the receptionist did not check this with me, or give me a form. After about half an hour I asked about it. Oh yes, she said. Then she found the form! Sometimes I am too accommodating! I am lucky in that generally I find the mammograms are not painful - just somewhat uncomfortable. An hour and a half after the appointment time I saw the specialist. All is well. It is 15 years since my surgery and treatment, so I have been fortunate. The disease killed my mother. What with two generations of breast cancer, I hope that my daughters start getting themselves checked.
The rest of the day I have been creeping around emotionally. Some wine, and pesto and pasta for dinner. And then watching the Prime Minister and a studio audience. The election is this coming Saturday. It bodes ill, I think.
I have just finished the edging of yet another wrap, so at least there has been something achieved today.