Patron Saint of Falling Over Things

My lap top just died. Marvel Girl is dead. She flat-lined. Guess I should have re-thought that name. If I bury her in a cocoon under the sea, do you think she'll come back? And die again? And then come back? And so on?

It wasn't unexpected. She was massively old. But I loved her. Even after lilacsigil dropped a cup of tea into her and after we got her back from the repair shop the keyboard kind of curled up a bit at the sides, I still loved her. Even though there was a bald patch on the mousepad. I knew where the good spots were.

Now I have to sit on the rickety wooden chair in the kitchen and write at the desk top. This is symbolic of life - one minute you're sitting all comfy on the sofa with a cat on either side of you, and the next minute, you're perilously close to death by chair leg up the bum.

*makes note to buy good chair before NaNo starts*

I am consoling myself with watching and rewatching the Iron Man trailer. The incredible awesomeness of using Black Sabbath in that trailer cannot be over-emphasised.

I really should be writing. I am writing. Really.