Everything about this machine is sleek and minimalist and oh so easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy to use. It is giving me the illusion of being almost competent in areas that used to terrify me and that I would have a tendency to avoid like the plague. For example, the downloading of photographs. Now, nobody in their right mind would accuse me of giving (insert famous photographer's name of your preference) a run for their money. I am no Annie Liebowitz. I am very much a point and shoot gal. And I can point and shoot as good as the next person until the cows come home. However, ask me, since the digital revolution, to then actually do something useful with these photos - for example, download them, categorise them into organised folders for ease of reference, upload them to Facebook, email favourites to family and then, heaven's alive, actually print some of them to display in my home - and that's where I would become slightly unglued.
So it was with some trepidation that I tentatively wedged my camera's memory card into the new Love of My Life yesterday and waited with baited breath for the illusion of my new found competence to come crashing around my ears. However, in the blink of an eye the iPhoto application opened, welcomed me with an intro video (which I admit I ignored due to the roaring in my ears and floating specks in front of my eyes, caused by low level anxiety) and before my body had time to create sweat on the palm of my hands my photos were downloaded, automatically categorised into events by date and I was one click away from uploading them to Facebook. Bloody genius. Not genius enough to actually feature a selection of my impressive photographic repertoire on this blog of course...but it is early days.
My new TV also arrived yesterday. And not just any old tele, oh no. A multi-regional TV no less. So now when I move home next year the TV in my possession as of this moment actually has a chance of working, rather than being discarded for peanuts stateside and having to be replaced for more than peanuts in Blighty. (Assuming of course the bastards don't return a week from now and nick my shiny new replacements...not gonna happen, not gonna happen, not gonna happen repeat to fade.)
Only two other items appear to have been taken - my Tag watch and my wedding ring. Both of which had been unceremoniously slung into the Kitchen Drawer of Tat, due to the Tag needing a new battery (which I had been meaning to get replaced for months) and the ring having been removed over 2 years ago but not yet relegated to the Jewellery Box Containing Stuff I Never Wear in the bathroom. I should feel sad about both. And maybe in time I will. But instead I just feel irritated with myself for being so careless and laissez-faire - it's been a common trait in my life, born from a natural tendency to laziness, and one that my ex particularly despised. When I discovered the watch and ring were missing I could almost hear his voice in my head, "Well, what did you expect? You never did appreciate or show a decent respect for the value of anything I have ever bought you..." It would be pointless to defend myself because the evidence of stuff I have broken, lost and mislaid over the years is just too damning to refute. I am an excellent receiver of valuable gifts. Just not so good a keeper of said gifts. Yet one more thing to work on, along with the countless other less noble traits I exhibit on a frequent basis.
Needless to say, the watch and the ring are not going to be replaced. In fact, if there is money left over from the insurance then it will go towards replacing my ex's Tag, which went missing when we moved back to Chicago 3 years ago. The official version of the story is that the removal men must have stolen it when packing up the kitchen (yes, his watch had also been unceremoniously dumped into the Birmingham Kitchen Drawer of Tat...although of course this is no reflection of his lack of appreciation or respect for items of sentimental and monetary value).
However, in all truth I rather suspect that I inadvertently threw his watch away. Now, I can't be hand-on-heart sure about this. But there was one particular box of kitchen 'essentials' that was getting a little bit laborious to unpack and find a home for. It contained the contents of several Kitchen Drawers of Tat. (They're like rabbits aren't they? Once you have one then they just tend to multiply without your permission until, one day, only the drawer containing cutlery is sacrament and even that has a tendency to be infiltrated by odd coins, paper clips, rubber bands and plasters if you're not constantly on your guard.)
Anyway, there I was, diligently unwrapping several layers of paper - like the most unrewarding and relentless pass-the-parcel game in the world - to reveal a small rock that the boys had deemed irreplaceable, or the dismembered hand of an action figure, or 4 pens which no longer functioned, or a broken plastic lid for a container that had long since been binned. This particular box stood approximately 4 feet high and by the time I had unwrapped half of these 'treasures' I had lost the will, if not to live, then certainly to waste my time unwrapping any more. So I simply dumped the remains of it. I thought nothing more about it.
A couple of days later ex asked me in passing, "have you come across my watch yet?". Er, nope. Where was it? In your bedside table with your cufflinks? "No, I'd left it in that kitchen drawer, under the microwave. I was going to get the battery replaced but hadn't gotten round to it."
Oh.
Oops.
Needless to say, I never confessed to even the possibility that my tardiness had potentially played a role in the disappearance of his valuable timepiece. And so now, if there is any opportunity to make it up to him, and replace this watch, then I will take it gratefully and with no regret for my losses - because I have the new Love of My Life and right now that's good enough for me.
