This morning, as I lay in bed reading, my computer switched itself on. Seriously. Apropos of nothing I can pinpoint (well, I was in bed without my glasses; you can't expect too much here), I heard the fan start up, and the computer booted itself up to the login screen. I stared at it for a while, wondered about power surges tripping a startup, or whether my computer had become sentient last night and, for its very first trick, had learnt how to induce guilt; and then I decided I'd fix it later. After I'd finished this chapter. But after I ignored it for a few minutes, the computer performed the equivalent of a shrug: it put itself back into hibernation. With an audible click that had me wondering about the guilt trip thing again.
I'm now left feeling a little like Neil from The Young Ones: technology hates me, man. Or at least it judges me. But, after a morning reading in bed, I'm good with that. There's very little in the way of ills that being curled up in bed with a book won't cure, I find.
This week has been a strange one. Lots of family, what with the new addition summoning relatives from far and wide. There are photos (my Lord are there photos!), but I don't want to post them without permission, so for now I'll just post a couple of Kaitlyn's hands. They actually rank as my favourites, anyway.
I also had thoughts this morning of confidence and apologising in writing, but they don't fit in this post. Plus they're still very vague and nebulous. So maybe a bit more on that later.
