There’s a special kind of tragicomedy in trying to publish books online and to build a sleek, modern website when your brain looks suspiciously like Swiss cheese… even if your laptop is a state-of-the-art marvel that could probably pilot itself to Mars.
Yes, thanks to a kind soul, I finally have a brand new, whiz-bang laptop that hums happily under my fingertips, loads giant files in a blink, and auto-saves so I stop losing entire chapters to my wandering mind. It’s glorious.
But here’s the catch: my brain didn’t upgrade with it. My sharp-cheddar brain stayed somewhere behind in the 20th century, and now it's like a block of moldy Swiss cheese - riddled with holes from years of stress, life, and forgetting why I walked into the kitchen. (Spoiler: probably goat milk. Always goat milk.)
So now I’m like some hapless rookie astronaut plopped into the pilot seat of a sleek starship. I’m gripping the controls, squinting at blinking lights, hoping I’m pressing the right button to launch forward — not eject myself into deep space. Meanwhile, digital asteroids (pop-ups, errors, plugin failures) keep whizzing by, and stray space junk (like 42 open browser tabs) threatens to spin me off course.
Then there’s my old phone.
Good grief.
It’s still limping along beside me, glaring resentfully at my shiny laptop. It freezes at the slightest provocation, refuses to load half my sites, and closes pages in mid-scroll like it just got bored. If my laptop is a spaceship, this phone is a potato — occasionally useful, mostly just sitting there, sprouting eyes, doing absolutely nothing to help.
And sure, my new laptop is perfectly willing. It purrs along, obeys commands, doesn’t crash or whine like the prehistoric brick I used before. It’s me — the Swiss cheese pilot — who’s lagging, still figuring out which dashboard goes to which website, which image I meant to upload, and why the page I thought I published is apparently lost in orbit.
But here’s the thing: even a holey brain, an old potato phone, and questionable piloting skills can still steer a mighty fine ship. I’m building. I’m writing. I’m (sometimes) pressing the right buttons.
Because perfection is overrated. Determination is everything.
And if I accidentally warp into a black hole once or twice? To quote Thomas Edison: "There is great value in disaster. All our mistakes are burnt up. Thank god we can start anew."
