I might have mentioned here or there that my ethernet wire is now plugged into a router under Genius's desk, and runs across the basement floor in all its coiled glory, through the door of my dark lair, up across the counter full of
Every time EVERY TIME that I enter or leave my lair, I have to hurdle this beast! Let the record show that Mrs. HM's hurdling days are over. I must goose-step like a German soldier, or lift my knees like a prize Lipizzaner stallion to navigate those ankle-catching loops. So every time EVERY TIME my 44 oz Diet Coke demands that my bladder visit the NASCAR bathroom, I must overcome that obstacle. Which is often.
Yes, the giddy days of being reunited with my innernets have passed. I now take it for granted again, and am waiting for Farmer H to install that new hub that's sitting upstairs in its box, fresh from Amazondotcom on Wednesday, resting on the back of the couch right by the basement stairs. I'm pretty sure I could do it myself, if I could only crawl on my knees under my desk.
That's about ALL I can't do. I've been bending to look under there at the wire configuration. Stretching to see and reach the connections on the back of New Delly's tower, the back of the printer, and the wires on my old desktop that's now on the floor out by Genius's desk. Lifting and carrying that hub's Amazon box that also contained some items for The Pony's upcoming birthday (no, it's not a brownie maker...YET). Balancing myself on a 4-inch-thick slab of ice (good for the core muscles) while trying to reach the lock box that fit the key I found in EmBee's gullet.
Yes. I'm being whipped into shape against my will by this faulty connection. I miss the good old days of sitting on my ample rumpus, merely exercising my elbow for sips of my magical elixir.