What invisible edge
slit skin on finger tip,
inserted pain into this day?
Every typed word
danger lurks everywhere.
I face the consequences
I’m crafting a world
and living in it.
You’re part of the narrative,
you were there.
Once more our tech is down;
Our secretary wears a frown.
Without access to the school network
Her computer has a little quirk:
It’s become a desk decoration
So she delivers colourful oration
On the difference it has made
To get these awesome tech upgrades.
We can not print. We can not copy.
We miss the days when disks were floppy!
We can not file. We can not type.
Improvements? Man, that’s all just hype.
They haven’t improved our telephone
It still works ‘cause they left it alone.
While twiddling our thumbs at least we’re paid
To celebrate these tech upgrades.
This year has been remarkably frustrating for us. Our school district has ‘upgraded’ its technology so everything runs through a network- all our DVD players, copiers, printers, projectors, and computers. This would be fantastic if the network was stable, but it’s not. At least half a day each week, and often two or three days, the network is down and we can’t do *anything.* Students can’t access their work. No one can research. We can’t access our presentations. We can’t show a movie. Our photocopiers run through the network, so we can’t even copy a paper if we have it in our hand. We are BEYOND frustrated with these ‘improvements’ and wish they’d just left us alone. Last year, every thing worked! We have a innovative school doing amazing things, except when the network shuts us down. >>>sigh<<<
From the rail siding
in Carrera I see
cold white mountain
sliced block by block.
What once created
La Pieta and David
now reduced to
slices of counter tops.
grumbles about his sore eye
I’m getting old.”
I was listening to the audio book of Diana Gabaldon’s A Breath of Snow and Ashes on the way home from work when a line was casually tossed into the narrative, that made me burst out laughing as I drove. Such brilliant understatement!
“…somehow one never translates the strength required for daily farm life into a capacity for homicidal fury.”
Well no, we don’t. Not from sweet, docile, farm wives who spend most of their time around the stove, at least.
However, given that Mrs. Bug (who just exhibited the homicidal fury in question) is an 18th century Scottish Highlander, it does make it more likely! ((cough)).