Bless me Father for I have sinned... it's been a week since my last confession. But Father, I am ready to pour out my heart!
So here goes...
I've been writing all this time but I cannot touch type. Yup, that's right dear cynics, she's a writer who bangs about on her computer like a five-year-old – two index fingers working over time in a pathetic haphazard mess. So tonight, a Thursday night, I stay in, chained to my glass dining room table, taking one typing lessons after another... typing at snail pace but like a determined mofo* nevertheless.
I am very bad!
And so I have this: my very first post... touch typed. It's taken five hours, 34 minutes and... seventy seven errors later... but I'm here... and, I might add, more frustrated than a nun in the prime of her sexuality.
Don't judge me... I'm eager and willing, right? Arggggrrrr okay the torture is finito, gone, over. O.V.E.R. Done.
Amen
*I once used this acronym to my mum and then had to explain what it really meant... which is of course: Mother Friend, yes? Or so she now believes :)
1 comment:
i have a vague recollection of your trying to teach yourself to touch type in one night at gran and poppas,something to do with a job interview the next day. correct me if im wrong.
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