I think I’ve got PMT. Here I am, head on one side, left elbow digging into my armrest, listening intently to my laptop. You see, just before I get an email, my laptop sort of buzzes and hums. And then I hear a little ‘ping!’ and my heart races just a little in case it’s an Interesting Email. Maybe from a friend? Or a comment on my blog? In which case I can stop what I’m supposed to be doing and craft a witty response.
But all too often it’s from bloody Amazon, exhorting me to buy stuff or from Her Precious High Majesty of Nigeria, telling me that my relatives in Nigeria have inexplicably left me a huge sum of money. Occasionally it’s from someone in Wyoming I’ve never heard of who wants to be my Facebook friend. Maybe it’s something to do with my joining the Facebook group called: I know more about foreign policy than Sarah Palin. I once ordered some vitamins from an online pharmacy and now I’m deluged with offers to extend my penis and buy blue pills. But soft! I hear buzzing! And humming and – ping! An email from The Girl’s school lunch provider. Apparently I owe money.
I need to get out more.