Epiphany to Write

I get up.

It's damn early, the sun isn't even up. I check the clock and it's ten minutes to four. I turn on my laptop and make a bowl of cereal. I turn on my NETSTUMBLER and it comes alive with signals. @home is not there, 23311e is. I hit it just for shits and giggles and she carries the load of the browser. Poof, I'm back online.

I read email and do my thing, including my exercise. I keep one eye on the clock, because before the ass crack of dawn I plan on going downstairs to Daddy Day Care and get online. I dress heavy, because I don't know what the morning weather will be like. The open window in the room is a poor barometer because it opens out to an alleyway. I have a lovely view of a brick wall and other windows. There is no breeze between these structures. The same hot air that goes out of my room, comes back in.

I'm the first one inside Daddy Day Care, so I guess that means that I get the coveted 'fuck you' prize. The Barrister ignores me for two minutes while I'm standing in front of her, until I wished her death. She must have read it on my face, because she piped up and took my order. But still her and her friend, two little rolly poly motherfuckers, that look like a pair of Oompa Loompas, cast nasty glances and handed over my breakfast as if it was a grenade.

Subsequent guests were treated with at least a hello and a smile. But I don't care. I sit down and unpack. Shortly a rowdy man and woman come in, boisterous and hopping about, they start the fun and games in Day Care. Two people acting like children. Soon I hope to see them chasing each other around the tables.

Next comes in the Dawn of the Dead. A biker type, leather jacket under a wool coat, with a napkin...just kidding, a bandana on his bald head, and jeans with holes at the knees, comes staggering in. He makes it to the counter as if he's walking a tightrope. Later, I see him working his way back to a table and chair, and crash landed his ass in the seat. I turn the sound up in my headsets just as the first Daddy walked through the door. Now I ask you: Really, what the FUCK have you got a little baby up and dressed at 6:30 in the morning for?? I mean, what? Maybe the kid can't sleep and you're walking him around to knock his ass out? But he has this little two year old in a stroller.

And then I get a epiphany. As if the cloudy skies opened and a bolt of light sliced down through the darkness and illuminated my face.

I love to write.

I have to describe my world and put it on paper, and describe it so that I can practically see it clearly through words... why?? Because I'm a writer. I have to. I love to. I must. That's not crazy, that's focused. Blind, white hot, naked focus. I'm always typing. Always. When I get home, I sit down at my desk and knock away, so fucking busy doing so many things that I have no time to worry about being lonely, destitute, uneducated, whatever. Such thoughts are unnecessary and useless to me. I have work to do. Suddenly I love my privacy, I am a man rich in character, I have a hundred skills, whatever. I fit into this world because I'm a writer, and not because of anything else.

Talking through e-mail with a friend of mine, who has just about started their own business, reminds me so much of when I had mine, that it gave me the spark of an idea. I need to market my skills as a writer more, and push it like I would push a computer service. Shoot for articles in magazines, book publishers, anthologies...whatever. I've got all that I need, and I have a base of operations now. I need to get started. I am pleased with myself suddenly. I am happy to be sitting in Daddy Day Care, typing on my laptop.

Now, back to my problem. Those signals in the room. I surf the web, learning more and more about how Window's manages WIFI signals and what terms like SSID and BSSID and all those fucking SSIDS whatever, are. I find that I need a new Connection Manager. That the Connection Manager that comes with Windows is klutzy and has many flaws that make it hard to work with in certain situations. So I surf for one. I find NETSWITCHER. Supposedly a superior signal locator and Connection Manager. Once it finds a signal it bites down on it like an old man with new dentures. I download and install it.

After finishing everything that I have to be online for to finish, I close up shop and head back upstairs. I lay out my baby on my desk, boot up and then sit with my two tools. NETSTUMBLER and NETSWITCHER, along with the old, reliable Windows Zero Config.

NETSTUMBLER does it's thing, telling me what signals are bopping around in the room. I set up NETSWITCHER, and train it on @home as soon as it appears. It chomps down on the signal, locking it in. I go back to NETSTUMBLER and bring up the signal's weak sine wave, like the weak heart of someone dying fast.

NETSWITCHER holds on...until the signal dies. You can't ask the tool to save the dying, or ressurect the dead. It can't force the signal to stay around, it can only hold on to what you give it. Software tools can only do so much. What I need now is something more mechanical, something more physical. A Signal Booster! But like an antenna, it can only relay what it catches. For that to work, I would have to put the repeater on the roof or something like that. I'm not THAT crazy.

Watch me...I'll solve this one.

HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2008/11/epiphany-to-write.html
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