Reading, 3

The third post of this series already though I haven’t settled into a routine yet. Today had the better idea of what to do about the illustration. Instead of letting just one book have all the glory, why not give them all a chance to attract readers? Will give that a go shortly.

The longer without a routine the better, I used to think before I was pole-axed by ME/CFS. Come Easter, I’ll have lived with this malady for 29 years. Somewhere along the line I learned that making decisions is a stressor that saps my strength.

The idea out there—in the public domain—is that the more non-important decisions we encapsulate in routines the more energy we’ll have to make important decisions. It’s not wrong … routines enable me. Interesting article on decision-making … https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Decision-making

Then I thought what about at the end of the year? Won’t I want to know how many books I actually read? That is the project after all. I saw myself counting through the posts. Got to be an easier way. Just number them already. So … started that today.

Book 5. The Light Pirate by Lily Brooks-Dalton, 2022. Published by Grand Central Publishing of New York.

This is the only book out of the five that I’ll recommend. I might’ve mentioned before on this blog that the climate change apocalypse, and its associated nightmare horsemen are my Sword of Damocles, and that the thread the sword is hanging by is wearing mighty thin and frayed.

The Light Pirate is set in the near-future and describes how the Florida coast is being engulfed the sea. It’s a blow-by-blow account of the way one family dies and adapts and is taken and finally evolves for a new existence. Ninety percent stark dark reality and ten percent luminous hope.

This is a book I would like to own. Read the good bits every now and then. This story speaks for everywhere there is low ground by the sea.

Book 6. Downward to the Earth by Robert Silverberg, 1969. First serialized in Galaxy Magazine it was published in 2015 by Gollancz in their SF Masterworks.

Although I’ve been reading science fiction since I was about 13, and Robert Silverberg has written hundreds of stories, I haven’t read all that many. Scanning through the titles in the front, I see only one that I own. Most don’t ring a bell. This little classic is said to … “blend mysticism, worldbuilding and literary references in an inventive mix …” from the backcover.

It’s probably about 60 thousand words, a common size in the 1970s, with a single storyline, the journey of the main character, Gundersen, returning to the planet after a ten year absence, out of guilt and needing to do penance for his mistreatment of the native species.

When I read old science fiction I’m forever fielding echoes. In this book I was reminded of some of Oscar Scott Card’s work. Comparing the dates of Silverberg’s and Card’s work, I think probably Card got his idea of the melding of the two species from Silverberg. Although, they could both have got the idea from Earth’s own panoply of creatures. Most insects, for example, have vastly different life-stages.

Book 7. Iron in the Soul by Jean-Paul Satre, 1949. This edition translated by Gerald Hopkins and published by Penguin Classics, 2002.

Despite that there was plenty of Jean-Paul Satre around when I was a young student, I was never tempted to read him then. Now I thought, browsing along the shelves at Carindale Library, why would Penguin choose to republish him as one of their classics if there wasn’t something to him?

I read a few pages in the middle—that’s the way I test books for readability—and thought it might be interesting. A whole other viewpoint about the Second World War, this one from the POV of the rank and file of the French Army.
Thousands were taken to Germany and, I read just now, more than ten thousand French soldiers fought alongside the Germans. I wonder if they were given a choice, fight for us or we shove you in a work camp? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/France_during_World_War_II

Book 8. Wolf Girl: Into the Wild by Anh Do, 2019 with illustrations by Jeremy Ley, 2019. Published by Allen & Unwin.

Seriously, was a bit of light relief, I zipped through this in about an hour. A story aimed at 8-10 year olds that my grandson lent me. I was interested to read how Anh Do, serious artist, translates into Anh Do, children’s author. His style reminds me of Enid Blyton’s.

There are about a dozen installments. A money-spinner, if you ask me. And yet, Enid Blyton’s vast output was great for struggling readers, giving them lots and lots of practice of the plain vocabulary that they needed to become good readers. So perhaps this is the place for Anh Do’s output in Australia.

Book 9. The Woods by Harlan Coben, 2007. Published by Orion Books.

Returning a bunch of books to the in-house library in the community center, I picked up The Woods because Coben wrote it and I hadn’t read it yet. Pure indulgence. A fast forgettable read. Suspense? Of course. All the t’s crossed and the dots dotted? Yes. “The modern master of hook and twist,” says Dan Brown on the front cover. (Wonder what he got or did to get his name on someone else’s front cover?)

Reading …

Good resolutions at the beginning of a year aren’t my bag but this year I thought I would keep a record of what I read the whole year.

In my teens, with no TV at home, a boring school life–working well below capacity I think now–and an almost non-existent social life, I often read a book a day. A regular bookworm, I chewed through most of the high school library in the first year, and was then provided with the truly educational stuff by the high school librarian. That lady saved me.

Mrs Murray. A short, orange-haired dragon to every other student, she loaned me many interesting and exciting books from her own collection. Historical fictions, lives of explorers, a journal purporting to be by Marco Polo, good novels. It was with her support that I managed A grades in Art History, Geography and Biology, a credit in English in my finals. I never studied, I read whatever came to hand. All of it grist to the mill.

I went on to use that formula all my life. All my learning is done by reading around in a subject. Two years ago I started a course in Dream Interpretation and I’ve collected a library of about twenty books, long and short. Now, while I’m still recording my dreams and practicing their interpretation, I’m slowly falling back into my normal reading habits.

Last year I read some great fiction that I wish I remembered better. I prefer thinking it’s because I have a lot of stories always on the go, that I don’t remember everything I read as well as I used to, but of course it’ll also have something to do with ~~ageing.~~ Forbid the thought.

Or maybe it’s to do with needing to keep myself severely in hand, not over-excited, not over-do it, keep myself on an even keel etc etc to float my ME/CFS riddled carcass through the sea of life.

So, book one of the year was book four of a sequence I began round about Christmas time. Those Who Perish by Emma Viskic: A Caleb Zelic thriller published by Echo in 2022. I thoroughly enjoyed all four of these detective fiction/thriller tales. Not least because I’ve been channeling an elder of 150 years ago, the days before hearing aids.

My hearing aids are working at approx 20% and the repair place is not re-opening until Monday–two more sleeps–and can’t come soon enough. There are far more women in my world now than men, yet men’s voices I can hear, and women are like they are mouthing noiselessly and I am not a good enough lip-reader.

Caleb Zelic, though a frustratingly impulsive protagonist, is mostly deaf and his story is punctuated by mal-functioning hear aids, people who don’t move their mouths when they talk, or turn away and talk so he misses important clues, etc etc. All things I could totally relate to. He’s a well-drawn character, the events he gets involved in are realistic, while at the same time a gripping read.

Somewhere in there, also in the first week, I read another detective fiction, which was entirely forgettable as I had to scan the back cover just now to help me remember it. When She Was Good by Michael Rowbotham. Published in 2020 by Hachette. Although Robotham is one of my favorite detective fiction writers, this one left nothing behind in me except for an Albanian proverb. “Nobody values the truth more highly than a liar.” The primary protagonist is a Cyrus Haven, forensic psychologist, and he just doesn’t have the charisma of his colleague, Joseph O’Loughlin, Robotham’s first forensic psychologist. Maybe I’ll chase those up and re-read them.

While out grocery shopping I tripped over a bookshop. Fatal, as any bookworm will tell you. Normally I steer my trusty mule in a different direction but this time I had to pass it. I came away with a book I’ve had on my list for over ten years, more on that in the goodness of time, and The Gift of Not Belonging by Dr Rami Kaminski, subtitled: How Outsiders Thrive in a World of Joiners. Published in 2025 by Scribe.

Just reading the acknowledgements told me it was my kind of book … more on that next time.

This is the work of an otrovert. As such it cannot be the fruit of a team effort and presents a dearth of people to acknowledge. …

Lego, Raft

Underside of hull …

This is the hull of Robbie Rafter’s new vessel. He will be meeting Boz … Boz in the rowboat in the shallow water, Robbie on the raft in the deep water … to discuss the forthcoming conditions.

This is the first time I’ve come to grips with Studs Not On Top (SNOT) bricks and angled plates in one of My Own Creations (moc). The problem here was the two hulls needing to be used upside down and connected to the deck plates which of course are set studs up.

Took me two and a half hours to produce the above and it is a fairly solid construction now. Although there are a couple of places where I may have used so-called illegal techniques, I was able to stabilize the area enough that elements aren’t falling off with handling.

The different colors on the underside speak of the same old same old. While I now have two IKEA Alexes and multiple little trays to store my whole parts collection in … I still don’t have enough of parts and colors to be able to construct even one color coordinated build. But never mind, the characters themselves are good at explaining away these little irregularities.

Top of as-yet-unbuilt-on hull … the dark grey platform will house the engine room, bridge, galley and the bunk room. The flaps at the ends are the gates/drive-on and off ramps. Similar to how a ferry works. The middle deck is for the cargo.

The walkway two studs wide on the near side, will allow Robby to save fuel and his propeller by ‘walking’ the boat through shallows … setting his pole in the mud and forcing the boat to move by walking in the opposite direction to where he’ll want to go.

ME/CFS

Paragraphs by Chronically Rising on Facebook are in Blue. My comments and notes in black. I’ve posted up Chronically Rising’s whole article and commented on just the areas that affect me. All of this is bad enough, but note that quite a few maladies shelter under the ME/CFS umbrella.

POTS, OI, Fibromyalgia and PD are the four co-morbidities I believe the term is, that are part of my ME/CFS experience. And finally–I discovered the other day–Lymphoma (DLBCL in my case) is a known possible cancer that can result from ME/CFS.

Why People with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME) Can’t or Struggle to Work

Describing the impossibility of employment while living with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME) is like trying to explain the weight of gravity to someone floating in space. ME is a complex neurological, fluctuating and disabling disease that strips patients of the basic building blocks of daily function—let alone the capacity for work.

We are not lazy. We are not unmotivated. We are not “wasting potential.” Most of us were hardworking, driven and passionate about our careers—until ME took our ability to participate in life as we knew it.

I’m lucky now that I’m of an age where it’s fine not to be working for a living. When I first became ill in 1997, and could no longer work, I had those words thrown at me. People told me I seemed unmotivated (a careers counselor), bone-lazy (a relative), and wasting my potential (a person at one of the schools where I had worked). A heart specialist told me I was the worst hypochondriac he’d met before he physically, hand gripping my arm, walked me out the door.

Centrelink aka the dole office at the time, was the worst place where we all would’ve had to spend useless hours trying to get an allowance just to be able to continue to lay on the couch eking out our days till we became well enough to work.

Getting back to work never happened, though I did become well enough to study part time and when that ran out, to start volunteering. While I was studying, my son was getting through his high schooling. We lived on his Family Allowance and my Austudy. We had a vegetable garden and poultry for eggs, and a lot of help from my parents who were farming nearby.

The Disability Reality

Only about 25% of ME patients are able to work—and many of those can only manage limited, flexible work. At the other end, 25% of people with ME are housebound or completely bedridden. Even those with “mild” ME—often invisible to others—have lost at least 50% of their pre-illness functionality.

These numbers don’t represent a lack of trying. They reflect the physical, neurological and immunological collapse that defines ME.

My level of illness can best be described as mild to medium. Even in the days when I was at my sickest, I managed get up from the couch a couple of times a day to hang up a bit of washing, cook a meal or fetched a loaf of bread. My son was twelve the year I became ill, and as a result learnt a lot of life skills.

The year that followed my son finishing High School and leaving home, and my Austudy Grant running out, was one of my worst years. I had no income for months at the time and Centrelink kept harping about me starting work. For I don’t remember how many months I was forced to attend 10 useless job interviews a fortnight.

The stress built until I was forced back onto the couch, sicker than before. You might think I got an allowance then, but I don’t recall that I could even drag myself to the office. I don’t remember what I lived on that year.

Finally back on my feet in 2004, I was able to go volunteering. Ten hours a fortnight in a volunteer-job were enough to get me an allowance. It got me outside where I could get away from all the bad smells that plagued me, working Landcare sites, learning the difference between weeds and plants–I bet I pulled a few thousand camphor laurel seedlings in my time–meeting people, learning all about catching cane toads and a host of other things, with plenty of rest between sessions. A second job had me making up the remaining needed hours at home, setting up a database for the local museum.

Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM): The Wall We Can’t Push Through

PEM is the hallmark symptom of ME. It’s a delayed and disproportionate worsening of symptoms following even minimal physical, mental or emotional exertion. The crash usually comes 12 to 72 hours later and can last for days, weeks, months or longer. For many, the decline can be permanent.

A 2019 international survey by Holtzman et al. (n=1,534) found that 67% of people with ME reported never recovering from a crash caused by PEM.

This is not just tiredness. It’s post-exertional physiological injury. In ME, pushing through doesn’t make you stronger—it risks permanent harm. Even minimal overexertion can trigger a level of collapse some never recover from. It’s why exercise is not just unhelpful but dangerous for us.

PEM … I get mine 48 hours after the event, usually in the early morning. If I overdid it badly, I’ll get heart arrhythmia (a scary thing in itself) and I’ll be too tired to get out of bed. In the days that I had or have a cat, I will eventually get out of bed. Have breakfast, feed the animal and sink down on the couch. Or I’ll have a nap sitting up after breakfast.

Having a shower, washing my hair, and an all-over moisturizing cannot all be done on the same day. If I’m washing my hair, I’ll just moisturize my face and chest. The moisturizing is needed to prevent the skin allergies that lead to discoid eczema, the second itchiest skin condition I have yet experienced, that is kept at bay with diligent moisturizing.

Preventing PEM, I need to pace. I check my health app on my mobile. If I walked a lot the previous two days, I will stay at home. Like today when I’m typing this instead of going for a walk. Yesterday and the day before, I walked 2970 and 3477 steps, so today I must limit myself to 2000 steps or thereabouts or regret it tomorrow.

Fluctuating Illness

ME is a disease of instability. You might see us online one day or hear our voice in a short conversation—but not see the collapse that follows. ME doesn’t run on a schedule. Our capacity to function can change dramatically from hour to hour and day to day.

This fluctuation makes it impossible to meet deadlines, maintain fixed schedules or commit to the consistency required for employment.

The events I’ve planned to go to, that I haven’t been able to make it to, are a list as long as my arm or longer. I used to believe in miracles, but no more. I’ll never be able to make it to a LEGO exhibition, or LEGO shop. Music festivals. GOMA. Art exhibitions. Painting au plein air. Plays and dramatic productions. Films.

All gone. All too hard. Too much energy needed. Too much stress.

Cognitive Dysfunction

“Brain fog” sounds gentle—ME cognitive dysfunction is not. It’s memory failure, language loss, confusion, sensory overload and an inability to process basic information. Reading, speaking, typing and even thinking become physically exhausting. This is not surprising, as your brain uses 20% of your body’s energy.

Workplaces depend on sustained attention, memory and executive function. These are precisely the areas ME can impair most.

Very fortunately for me, I don’t believe I’ve suffered much of this element. I can still work on this blog, I can still write my fictions, work out an intricate knitting pattern, and read … both fiction and nonfiction. This year I’m studying Depth Psychology. Last year I studied Dream Interpretation.

Energy Production Failure

ME is not a condition of low motivation or simple fatigue—it’s a dysfunction in cellular energy metabolism. Our bodies cannot produce or sustain energy normally, and rest doesn’t replenish it. No sleep, vacation or energy drink will undo what this illness does at the cellular level.

Days when I don’t have energy seem to pass without my input. I don’t understand where they go sometimes. Afterward I have no idea what I did. And I don’t any longer drink alcohol, coffee or chocolate. I don’t smoke anything. And never now eat sugar, chocolate or any other consciousness-altering substances.

My diet is plain. I eat GF DF LowFODMAP and no sugar other than three small serves of fruit per day. What’s left you say? 37 vegetables, 7 fruits, chicken, fish, eggs, and tofu, nuts and seeds, corn chips. Water to drink.

Physical Limits

Even basic physical tasks like sitting upright, getting dressed or speaking can exceed our energy envelope. Some of us need to lie down most of the day. Others collapse after simple movements. The physical exertion of daily life alone is already overwhelming—working on top of that is physiologically impossible for many.

I haven’t sat upright for more then ten minutes at the time for years. I’m working right now at this post with a board across my knees, my laptop on that and typing from a forty-five degree angle sitting back against my couch cushions. I paint, read, eat, knit at this angle. I’ll sit up for brief periods to build with my LEGO and have my breakfast, and entertain the odd visitor.

Light Sensitivity

Many of us can’t tolerate typical workplace lighting. Fluorescent bulbs, sunlight and screen glare can cause migraines, vertigo, visual disturbance or neurological crashes. Some live in darkened rooms permanently.

I have been worse in this department. But I have been able to fine tune my apartment, and I’m not dependent on others. Same as with noise sensitivities. The unit I live in is so well insulated there’s hardly any noise.

Noise Sensitivity

Normal sound levels can be unbearable. Our nervous systems can’t filter noise like healthy ones can. A ringing phone, conversation or keyboard clatter can feel like an assault—leading to overstimulation, pain, confusion or even seizures.

Chemical Sensitivities

Many ME patients have Multiple Chemical Sensitivities (MCS) or Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS). Scents, cleaning chemicals, laundry products and colognes—everyday in most workspaces—can cause immune reactions, neurological symptoms or even anaphylaxis.

I have a LOT! off chemical sensitivities, intolerances and allergies. There are foods I can’t eat, stuff I can’t to breathe, stuff I can’t wear. Sometimes the sensitivities are affected by all aspects of an entity. For example, I can’t wear wool next to my skin, can’t knit with woollen yarn, can’t eat mutton or any part of sheep, and can’t use lanolin cream. What happens is I get a rash. Inside your mouth a rash is no fun at all.

Other times it’s just one aspect that is a bother. I can’t eat the brown skin on almonds, walnuts and brazil nuts, cinnamon bark, or similar substance. I get a sore throat. I usually don’t bother to reel off the whole lot when people in, for example, the medical profession, ask me for my allergies, or ask me to fill in a form with a tiny box for allergies.

I tell them only the half dozen or so that will impact them. These days, living where I now do–in a retirement village–my biggest regret is that I can’t attend most of the functions due to an overload of perfume and fragrances. It seems to me that as people get older they wear more and more, possibly because they’re losing the fine-tuning of their sense of smell, or they’re so over-dosed on scents that they need to wear more and more just to be able to smell them.

Sometimes, just getting into the elevator means getting into a cloud of scent left there by a previous rider. Usually I hold my breath, easy to do because I live on Level 2.

Since my last crash, I’ve become even more sensitive to chlorine. Bleach and swimming pools have been a bane for years, but now also I have to brush my teeth with water (most tooth pastes contain chlorine.) The list goes on.

Immunocompromised Status

A mild virus for a coworker can be a months-long crash or permanent relapse for some of us. Many people with ME do not have robust immune systems. Shared office spaces, public transport and even remote jobs that require appointments or outings pose a major health risk for some of us.

I still wear a mask in public places like shopping centres, public transport and busy streets. Or if there’s a lot of coughing nearby. Or if I need to squeeze into an elevator with fourteen others after a fire evacuation practice. Or. Or. Or.

Accessibility

Even without wheelchairs, ME patients may need full recline, silence, minimal light, temperature control and no chemical exposure to function. These aren’t preferences—they’re survival requirements. Most workplaces aren’t designed to meet these needs.

The Emotional and Social Weight

We live with an invisible illness in a world that demands visible proof. If we appear “well” for a moment, it’s assumed we’re fine. If we look ill, it’s assumed we’re not trying hard enough.

We’re judged for not working and also judged for trying to do anything at all. The emotional toll of constantly justifying your illness to society, friends and the system is devastating.

We Are Not “Just Tired”

ME is not burnout. It is not depression. It is not laziness. It is a multi-system neurological disease that profoundly disables us.

Some of us write, create or advocate when able—not because we’re well enough to work, but because these brief, careful expressions are a lifeline. They do not reflect our baseline or our capacity to sustain employment.

Sometimes, survival means stepping away from everything you love just to make it to the next day.

To Employers, Friends and Society

If someone with ME says they can’t work, believe them. We are not giving up. We are protecting what little function we have left. Even when we look okay, what you don’t see is the days or weeks of suffering that follow minimal exertion.

We’re not lazy

We’re not “burned out”

We’re physiologically ill

We’re doing our best to survive

That’s all. I’m trying to live the best life I can.

Life …

Not a double exposure as such …

A reflection … I love the mystery of this kind of shot. Then a bit of framing and cutting and voila … a meaningful and metaphoric intersection.

I’ve been having to prep all week for a medical ‘procedure’ on Tuesday coming and it’s played havoc with my nerves. Meaning it’s played havoc with my routines, with writing, any reading except the sort of thing I can get engrossed in and forget that the consensual world exists.

To that end have thrown myself into the Broken Earth Trilogy by N K Jemisin. Have read Parts one and Two so far, and they are every bit as good as I’ve been told. Will be re-reading them as Number Three had to be ordered in. More on them in the goodness of time.

I had six weeks to prepare my mind for this thing, so did nothing until a week and a couple of days ago, then started with writing out the whole deal in long hand in my health diary and making lists. working of the lists now.

This morning the hospital called. Was I going to do an online pre admission form? Something I had completely forgotten. Not anywhere on my lists. So did that, now going shopping. Again.

It’s ridiculous how much stuff we need for this sort of thing.

The weird thing about the prep … for me … was that I couldn’t get started until I had my clothes sorted for travelling there and back. I’m not any kind of dress-up person, most of my clothes are old and worn.

So when a hospital says ‘loose and comfortable clothes’ they’re talking about the rags I wear at home. So it was only after I had one of my clothes try-outs with all my clothes endingin a pile on the bed, and finally deciding to wear my one and only rarely worn skirt, a tshirt and a longsleeved shirt and hanging them ready …

only then could I start to think about any dietary difficulties I might have with the prescribed diet, the fact I had to drop off my antihistamine a week ago and have my nose leaking and my skin allergies popping and so on.

Does anybody even sell plain gelatine these days? Haven’t found any.

A ‘Blast from the Past’

Trying to get into an organized frame of mind … we’ve been warned there is to be a Fire Drill this morning, and also I should/must get my new mobile phone SIM installed that I have already done the online stuff for.

Now just waiting for the old SIM to stop working … no that’s not right … they’ll first send me a code that I’ll need to put in somewhere. Then wait for the phone to stop working and THEN change the physical SIM card. Something which I will need help with.

My weak old fingers can’t even get the case off the mobile, let alone negotiate the teeny tiny fork to open the little draw, to then insert the minuscule card! None of this stuff was invented with old people in mind. And times like these, I really do feel like the geriatric aviatrix (IE the geriatrix negotiating the virtual skies of the web) I sometimes write about.

I stopped thinking of myself as any kind of surfer about the time I did the research about surfing I needed to be able to write knowledgeably about the process in MONGREL. I knew just ordinary body surfing was simply giving myself to the power of the water to take me, straightened in a torpedo shape, with itself to the shore. Surfing using a board was a whole other process.

As a child in the 1950s I was pretty sure that one day I would be a pilot. I collected cigarette cards of planes, identified planes going over (not nearly as many as these days) and imagined being a pilot by extrapolating from my father’s actions at the wheel, driving his first car.

Which was a share car, by the way. The two families owning the car used to take turns going on camping holidays.

This example from http://www.simoncars.co.uk/coachwork/woody.html

As near as I can recollect, the sides of our woody were all wood panel, that there no windows in the sides of the back. And of course it was old and decrepit. Traveling in it, if I wasn’t staring out the front at the horizon, between my father driving and my mother in the passenger seat, I’d be car-sick, the smell of petrol pervasive. As it was originally a tradesman’s van, there were no seats in the back, and we kids had pillows and an old mattress to sit on. And I do seem to remember that my mother and father sat in old arm chairs.

What happened to the dream of becoming a pilot? A girl, in the 1950s? It was kindly explained to me that girls did not become pilots, but that I could become an air hostess instead. I grew and grew. By 1960, even that dream went by the way. There was a height restriction of 167 cm, 5′ 6″ for air hostesses in the days of low cabin-ceiling prop planes. I was too tall!

And that was only the first fly-away this morning.

Reading my emails and posts, I side-tracked into Susan Cornelis website again this morning, this time about her Norwegian memories. She quoted the Garrison Keillor sign-off from A Prairie Home Companion,

“I couldn’t help but remember Garrison Keillor’s sign off on Lake Wobegon “where all the women are strong, the men are good looking, and the children are above average”.”

That was so familiar, I can practically hear Keillor say it, a radio show I used to listen to way back when. I clicked away from what I meant to do and to the website, and it’s all still there.

Not that I’m listening to anything right now other than the sounds of people in the corridor. Next, the announcements and the siren … the cat shot under the couch … and it’s time to gooooo!!!

While down on the podium, and after signing my name off, a kind person with strong hands helped me by getting my phone case off.

Now. Off across to the shops where I’ll get the SIM changed.

Browser Shenanigans …

My online world broke this morning, like this tile broke … and was rethought in the way that I’m having to rethink my desktop …

I was glad to hit on a familiar page at last with this one … my WordPress dashboard. Thankfully, it was the same as it’s always been. I heaved a sigh of relief when I arrived.

It was then 2.30 PM and I’d struggled since I sat down after breakfast and chores to get back to my familiar scenario. My troubles began when suddenly my online bank was unavailable and the helpline operator and I thought at first that I’d been hacked.

But no, my then-browser updated overnight and apparently threw up a firewall that kept me out of my bank as well as several other places. Well I thought, away with that browser. I de-defaulted it and all my problems began.

Who knew there’d be 500+/- settings, and that there’d be a whole different architecture to accustom myself to, and that there’d be a bunch of new rules? One good thing about the new old browser is that everything is easy to find. I learned more about browsers in a couple of hours than I’d learned the whole year with the de-defaulted one.

I hope all the new stuff sticks in my head, as do I hope that all the stuff I have open on the desktop stays on there when I close the laptop. That I don’t have to find it all from scratch again next time I open the lid.

And although I enthusiastically welcome the password app, I also wrote down a bunch of them. You never know when you might be shut out, and at what level.

I managed to retrieve the situation without the help of an AI assistants, I’m glad to say. What FB AI assistants are doing beggars belief.