Everybody Knows This is Nowhere
Yes, like in the Neil Young song.
And this is one of those “funny” posts about living as a writer that should make me look human to potential readers and would-be Patrons.
Sure, just look at me…
So the big news this morning is we got a call from our internet service provider – they just updated the radio/sat grid we use for connecting to the web, and so we are now able to do stuff our old PCs can’t really do. But we are now in the 21st century as far as web connection is concerned: we’ve got the same transfer rates you get in, I don’t know, Seoul or Tokyo.
Which is good news, and only costs us an extra 5 bucks per bimester.
And once again I had to feel grateful for my friends, that two years ago gave me the radio/sat connection as a birthday gift – because when you are lost in Astigianistan, without the web you’re dead.
Anyway, the only thing I needed to do to activate the whole shebang was to pay a small fee at the post office.
Take it easy, the guy on the phone says, you’ve got time until tomorrow.
But I’m doing this not-procrastinating thing, you see and so, considering I had to go to the bank anyway, and there’s a bill I should pay at the post office by the end of the month, I said to myself, no hesitation!, Let’s do this.
So I went to the bank, and then to the post office.
And the post office is closed.
The nearest PO that’s supposed to be open is 8 km away – and I don’t have a car.
But hey, no problem – I can pay at least the web fee at the tobacconist, using the Lotto circuit. So off I go to the tobacconist.
Where I find out that to pay about 3 bucks of activation fee (count’em, three frigging euros) I need to have with me: my Post Office card, my fiscal code, AND my digital ID card – that I don’t have, because I was issued with an old cardboard printed version that expires in 2023.
So, no paying today.
My resolution not to procrastinate crashed and burned on day two because, like Neil Young used to sing, Everybody Knows This is Nowhere.