This is actually Monday’s post… the last make-up post.
I am now working on the third consecutive day of being without internet service. I quickly see what a disaster World War Three, the Cyber-War, is going to be.
I mean, there is plenty to do. I am trying to save my home from legal pillaging by the city trolls, so I must work in the yard. I must also desperately work on the pool. And since I may have to blog about it for nudists… I am going to try doing it wearing only sunscreen. (Not the yard work in the front yard… in the back yard that is fenced in and tree-filled… with the gates tightly locked, of course.)
And I am reading a brilliantly funny book by Terry Pratchett called Raising Steam, about bringing steam trains and train travel to the fantasy medieval world he calls Discworld. I miss Terry Pratchett. He passed away and will never write another one. And there are only a precious few left that I haven’t gotten to read yet. But, he won’t be around for the third installment of the World at War Saga. I hope I am not either… but I am probably too stubborn to just die on my own. I am expecting now to be murdered by a Trumpcare death panel.
I am also trying ferociously to write and publish novels. I have so many stories left to tell, and not enough time to plant the fields of imaginative rough-draft fiction, water them with re-writes and editing, and then try to harvest them by publishing.
I no longer suffer from childish illusions that my fiction is going to change the world for the better, the way Dickens’ once did. I know I am probably writing them only for the ash-pile, or the myopic alien squid-man that will uncover them as part of his psychotic obsession with xeno-archeology.
So there is plenty to do, but I can already see the problems that will come if everybody’s internet and electronic world breaks down at the same time. Especially if it ends up being permanent. I can’t pay my bills without internet banking and access to the websites I use to pay things I owe. I can’t do any further publishing work without being able to email the publisher. Not having internet is basically the end of the world I have been living in since I retired. No Netflix, no Google, no email, no Twitter (Hey, it’s not all bad after all, now is it?), no access to the website that is deciding whether to send me to Bluebonnet Naturist Camp or not (is this list of problems actually getting better?), no television, and a decided lack of communication with the outside world (which means no bad news about Trump and the crazy government. Woo Hoooooo!)
So, while I can cope with not being online, how long can I really hold out if the Trumpian Troglodytes pitch us back out of the information age? Think of it… a new age of coal and Trump-branded real-estate all run by a narcissistic orangutan and his piratical racist banker boys. Not very long, I suspect.