The old 2002 iMac, our downstairs computer, has finally given up the ghost. It's one of the last of the pre-nuptial possessions, so I guess it just never felt like it fit in. The little beast was a workhorse, as I must've burned DVDs in the hundreds on it, and then there were all those times I dragged it out over the ocean to that dusty desert island every summer. In its final days it served as an Email, Internet, and Facebook hub in the family room, as it could barely handle the processing demands of much else. It never could play a YouTube video without a thousand hiccups, but now that it's gone you realize how much you used it, how you miss it. *tear* *sniff*

We'll have to buy a new iMac then! As if. The reasons for buying a new computer are 1, whereas the reasons for not are a thousandfold. (Lord in Heaven, how will we survive?!) But if a thousand dollars drops out of the sky today, I might just go throw it at the Apple Store, though there are countless other stores clamoring for it to be thrown at.

Just got off the phone with the guys at the aluminum plant. I told them where their engineer can stuff these 38" square footings. He just laughed. Seriously, we're not building the Eiffel Tower, here. It's a patio cover, folks. "But it needs a lot of lateral support!" to which I would reply with a lateral faceslap if I was standing in the room with him. So, I'm still digging. Can't wait to see the look on the inspector's face. I just know he's going to shake his head and ask me just how many bodies I was planning on burying in there, exactly.

The customer is friendly about it. I'll be glad when this week is over. It's supposed to rain Thursday, which was the day I wanted to pour the concrete, and then next week's job will get backed up. Slow. Fast! Slow. Fast! My back hurts. My head hurts. My hands are blistered. It's Tuesday. Yesterday's toil diminished my camp high considerably, but that's how it goes. It's as if all the elements of the world conspire to remove you from a godly setting, leaving you like a fish on the sand, fins slapping, gills flapping. It's like that, but it's just Tuesday.

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