And here's the part that hurts the most: Humans cannot ride a ghost.

You guys, ugh. Why do I live in the Old Testament? Lightning struck my house yesterday for the third time in three years, frying who knows what all. I mean, inside the walls it fried who knows what all. Outside the walls, it fried all kinds of tangible things like TVs and DVD players and video game consoles and laptops and my modem and router. I'm at Starbucks right now until AT&T and a master electrician can come fix my Internet. And let me tell you what is happening in this Starbucks: Nothing. You know why? BECAUSE THE INTERNET IS MOVING SLOWER THAN WHATEVER IS THE SLOWEST ANIMAL ON EARTH! A sloth? A snail? Slower even than both of those things! So slow TIME IS MOVING BACKWARDS! Also, there is music playing and people are talking, neither of which I can abide when I am trying to use my brain. Usually, I just dial right into simplynoise.com, but I can't do that right now. You know why? BECAUSE THIS INTERNET IS BEING ROUTED THROUGH 1986!

Yesterday I got into a fight with someone I love very much, and fighting is my least favorite thing ever. Then I got trapped in the woods during that thunderstorm that blew up my house, miles from civilization, with Margaret and Scout. It was like every scary thing: Darkness and lightning and the trees cracking and falling and the wind whipping around like a beast of a thing. Basically have you ever imagined a Dementor attack? That. And so then we finally got back to the trailhead and back home, but our house was broken. And then I finally got to sleep and when I woke up, guess what? MY FAVORITE TV SHOW HAS BEEN CANCELED.

The last 24 hours have not been a pleasure.

A guy just came into Starbucks while I was writing this and he looks like a truck driver, a big ol' grey-haired burly fella with a hat that says ROADWAY, and he sat down next to me and he is reading Breaking Dawn and drinking a giant cup of frothy something. That's making me feel better for some reason. Oh, and hey! Mouse Rat's 5,000 Candles just shuffled onto my iPod. (My music is better than Starbucks music. If I have to listen to something, it's gotta be something I picked out myself.)

Can I tell you a secret? I don't know this week's Collective topic. I can't get into the Google Doc to see it because of this GODDAMN INTERNET. I think, and I'm really just guessing at this point, that the topic is: Who would you like to be your mentor?

If that really is the topic, this really is my answer:



Merlin as my witness, there isn't a mountain I wouldn't climb, an ocean I wouldn't swim, an Internet connection I wouldn't endure, to submit myself to her tutelage. I'd crawl naked through the desert on my hands and knees, I really would.

My actual mentor, though, is Bridget Jones. I am her. Though perhaps ever so slightly less elegant under pressure.