I’m now entering my third week of having a desktop computer at home that’s so disabled it can’t really be used for any sort of writing. I have a new computer being built, but it hit some snags (motherboard, memory, bla bla) and so for the last three weeks I’ve been mostly using a craptacular laptop from 1999 that I inherited from Heidi. It’s a little workhorse — it never crashes, but it can only run one application at a time, and it runs like molassas. Hey, I’m not complaining: it was free, it runs Firefox, and has a wifi card. But it’s also part of why I’ve not been posting as often.

Yesterday I got a check for the first half of my book advance. It’s about the cost of a new hyper-snazzy laptop. If I were a different kind of writer (the impulsive, procrastinating, passionate kind — instead of the methodical, reasonable, excell spreadsheet kind), I would go blow it on a swanky computer that would be outdated within a month. Instead, I’m tucking it away into savings. It’s sort of sad, but I’ll thank myself later, I’m sure.