More scramble from my handwriting recognition program and my little scribbles. Much editing had to be done to get it into this shape even, despite my efforts to tailor my handwriting to make it easier for the computer (!) to translate from script to text. It's like the strangest game of Telephone, where I tell something to my pen and paper and the computer tries to overhear what I'm saying. This is what the computer came up with:

January-what? 3rd?. 2009

So my computer is definitely dead. Data recovery is prohibitively expensive (probably around $500- 800 ) so that is not something I 'm Likely to pursue. (Although Dave and another friend of ours Who has some experience dismantling Macs are going to root around and see what they can do, if anything. Luckily all my photos are also on Dave 's computer (and we have a backup) and most of my writing has been blogged. In miss some of what wasn't- but c'est la Vie, you Know?

Sans computer, I've been reading tons and tons. While Cleaning out

the storage unit, I came across be bunch of old books. I donated

about 90% of them, but a book called Obsession by John Douglas

came home with me. i'd read it before of course,

it’s a quick read about rapists and stalkers and serial Killers: some

of my favorite Subjects, actually. I followed that up With Aftermath,

a pre- gulag- reading purchase, left aside until now. Aftermath is

part justification for personal narratives in philosophical

discourse, part personal narrative, and totally amazing. The author

was raped and strangled (nearly Killed by her attacker) while on Vacation in France and she wrote the book as part of the process of recovery. (I have to say

however, that discovering the evidence Of her political conservatism nearly derailed my sympathy toward her. How sad is that? Seem I need to Work on Some things.) After finishing Aftermath,.I turned to a book recommended to me by my 19-year-old

niece. Yes, I read Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. I would never

say this to my niece, but blech, not my cup of tea, poorly written

vampire stories. In the midst of all these other books, I've been

making repeated attempts to read Sarah Vowell's Assassination

Vacation. I want very much to Like Vowell 's book because I Like

Vowell, but- sigh- it's not going Very well, I 'm afraid. It's Like

an uninteresting column from a history-oriented magazine that

has a circulation in the tens of thousands. I should

say that history in general doesn't interest me very much. (If I

want to read lies, I'd rather just read fictions, so it's no surprise

that this book is about as interesting as, well, as reading history.)

I've also been inhaling magazines., including 0 Magazine, the one

with the fat I-thin Oprah cover, and Martha Stewart's Living,(Which

wa's dull, dull, dull this month. I bought it on impulse as I

was Checking out at target. So sue me.)

my other project has been to download my music Collection

onto Dave's computer, put my CD's in a binder, and toss The

CD cases, It's a major Space- saving/decluttering effort.

SO far, three shopping bags of CD cases have gone out the

front door and straight into the rubbish bin. It's not so

terribly interesting, downloading CD's, so to Keep The Brain

from rebelling, its I've been watching movies. (Casablanca

and Priscilla, Queen Of the Desert) and old episodes of

30 Rock.

In other news, the. Exercise jag is going well. I went with Dave

and my niece today for Some Cardio and weightlifting. My niece and

I often chat while we workout, and today she told me that when

She was a child, She thought my house was "magical.” That's a

pretty nice complement, I think. Then she recounted several of her

memories of Spending time with me and Dave, and I was a

bit shocked because I had not a Single recollection of what Was

important to her. Strange, but only just. All her happy

memories are from one of the darkest times in my life, When I

was a highly- functioning depressive. when I am

depressed, I lose the ability to lay down memories (it's self -

protective I think), either good or bad, and So all those years

that are so precious to her are blank, dark years to

me. that made me a bit Sad to have this evidence of how much of my life has been Stolen by depression.