I am writing this while I wait for the gauge of the copying to creep from ten to eleven percent. 250 GB files to be transferred by wifi at a whopping 8 megabyte per second. After that I have to wipe the desktop PC, which is also the file- and printer server around here, and then I have to reinstall windows.

I am in a good mood, thus. All my little doings and things this evening is about monitoring the little gauge as it creeps from percent to percent. That’s 480 MB per minute, one GB every two. Five hundred minutes in all. Eight hours in total, and it has to be watched, or the damn thing goes haywire for some reason. I know the drill.

Why? You may ask that. I do a regular check-up of my computers; scan them with antivirus programs, thoroughly, and always with two different ones because one package does not catch everything. Sometimes they miss. I’m very happy with Avast on the PC, but they’re not gods, and sometimes they don’t know about something yet.

When I ran a check with Malwarebytes instead, it found no less than three root-kits. So, the only way to make sure is to nuke everything from orbit. In effect, wiping the hard disk and reinstalling windows.

I make so many spelling errors too here, more than usual, because my fingers aren’t used to this keyboard. So, it takes twice as long to write this. Complaints.

***

But I’m also eating cake. The cake is not a lie! Yesterday Mark baked a cake to celebrate our ten months together. Strawberries, cream, banana-paste, the lot. It’s delicious. There was a huge chunk left over from yesterday, and we’ve gradually reduced the size of it during the day, and now I’m finishing it off. Christ, I’m going to be fat, am I not?

It still beggars belief that’s we’ve been together for nearly a year. How did that happen? Really? I’m not complaining, of course. I love him so incredibly much that I have to reach for the big adjectives, and that just makes my statements about it sound a bit ridiculous. Typical hyperbole. Right? Isn’t hyperbole the mark of the not so convinced putting up a facade to project conviction anyway? But sometimes even hyperbole pales when trying to describe real phenomena.

Tone. Inflection. That carries much more information for the social ape than mere words anyway. Something said a particular way entones emotion, meaning, weight. An ‘I love you’ said in a plaintive tone dwarves a Shakespearean love sonnet with meaning-weight.

I wish I could figure out a way to convey that meaning-tone in written words. Is there a way?

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