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missive from bed

It’s 11.30 on a Friday morning, and I’m in bed with a cold – stuffed up and achey, after a night of not much sleep. Phooey. This is one of the times when I am powerfully grateful to be self-employed, and particularly, that I am not an actress any more. The few times I had to drag myself from sickbed to stage were a nightmare. What a blessing to stay in my cosy bed. It’s dark and raining, so I’m especially safe and warm in here – with my MacBook Fleet, two newspapers, piles of research – I just printed a calendar for 1964 – and the box containing my new cell phone.

Yes, I’ve just bought a cell phone, my first – mostly because I want to be sure my mother and my brother in Ottawa can always reach me. The stylish little black thing is an LG with a keyboard, which I can’t even open. Another learning curve coming my way – there’s a CD I’ll have to watch. As usual, I’m ten years behind the rest of the planet.
But sometimes there’s a benefit to my slow ineptitude. I didn’t bother to shave my legs in adolescence, for example, and by the time I got around to thinking that I should be like everyone else and do so, there was no hair to shave. I attribute the fact that there are three measly hairs on each leg to my failure to shave in my early teens.
This may be utter nonsense, of course.
Last night, dinner with the group of 10 or so women who’ve started to meet regularly – all free-lancers in the world of publishing, agents, book publicists, editors, copyright lawyers, and one lone writer, moi – now called the Word Sisters. We all bring something for the meal, and the conversation is wide-ranging and always rich. Somehow I forgot my cold during the festivities, but it came back when I got into bed.
Just went downstairs to get a fresh cup of coffee. I wish I could figure out how to open this phone. The rain falls, and I am safe, warm, and bewildered.
1.30 p.m. I’ve figured out how to slide out the keyboard and install the Sim card and the battery, and now it’s charged up. But I still don’t know how to turn it on. I’ve pushed every button, but the little screen remains black. Also inserted the helpful mini-disc that came with it into the Mac DVD drive, and now the disc, which didn’t open, is stuck in there.
Leg-shaving was never like this.



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About Beth

I began keeping a journal at the age of nine. Nearly fifty years later, I started this online journal, sharing reflections, reviews, updates, and the occasional secret.

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