Clarabelle has been ill of late.
I first noticed her malaise when I would try to write. She'd be just fine for a bit, then start to throw up a whitish, rolling screen of indeterminate origin. If I left her alone for long enough the white screen would resolve itself. If not, all I'd see was white screen. She was starting to get on my nerves.
Then came Kindle, and the frustration was pushed aside. There was much rejoicing and reading and listening and downloading. Clarabelle was all but forgotten. Since I wasn't writing much it didn't matter.
I started writing again. I joined the StoryTellers group at church and reacquainted myself with the written word, something I had all but abandoned these past few years. And while Kindle is fine in his place, he is not so great for the writing.
I like the feel of the keys under my fingers. I like to know that the letter I press will show up on the screen, and I like to be able to read paragraphs all at once in huge print. In this, my little Kindle fails me.
But Clarabelle is a different story.
So on Saturday I picked her up, dusted her off, apologized for my neglect, and took her off to the computer shop. Yesterday I got the call that she is almost as good as new. It seems she still will need a new battery if I ever want to use her without a plug-in, but being as she and I are old, we can manage without that. The main thing is that she is up and running again. Her screen is clear. Her cyber-sickness has been cured, at least for the moment.
I'm thinking Panera might be a kinder, gentler place than Starbucks to hang out and exercise the mad writing skilz next. Clarabelle could use the workout, and frankly, so could I.