Listen up, kids. I'm about to say something remarkable and completely out of character, and chances are I may not ever say it again, so you'd better tattoo this date on your bicep, or bookmark this entry, or take a "screencap" of this page and save it as a big ol' "jpg" and print it out on a pretty piece of colored paper to hang up on your bulletin board.

The thing is this: Not everyone sucks!

Yes, if there's one thing I've "learned" (gee whiz, there's a lesson to be learned from every experience, isn't there, Mr. Brady!) from the past few days, it's that although many people do continue to suck, blow, and otherwise aggravate every scratchy wool fiber of my being, well, there are some wonderful exceptions. People I have never met in the flesh (except perhaps in dreams) (and no, I will not name names) (and besides, I said perhaps) sent me very sweet, sympathetic email messages; several people offered their assistance even though they admitted their computer knowledge was limited; and a handful with computer expertise offered to lend a hand, even if figuratively, via the telephone, email, comments, and instant messaging services.

I would go on and on about Shawn, but I won't. At least not here. Suffice it to say that he made me laugh even when I didn't think I could. And he helped me more than he will ever know — not just with the technical stuff, but also with his incredible patience when I lost my own. He plodded tirelessly through boring behind-the-scenes computer garbaggio. He was more understanding than I would ever be. But I won't go on and on. No. Not I.

And a special "shout out" (I will never say that in real life, by the way) goes to Derek from West Virginia, the best tech support person I have ever encountered at Dell. This evening when I called for more help, I was prepared to kick and scream, and to curse so viciously that even those of you in Alaska and Australia could hear me. But thanks to Derek, I was spared a stroke, and I think my computer system was spared further hardship.

If you hear someone singing "What A Difference A Day Makes" tomorrow morning around 5:15, you'll know that everything is just dandy. And If you don't see some sort of delicious breakfast refreshment here on my site by 9:00 a.m., the only song you'll be hearing will be a funeral dirge.

P.S. Peppy, fresh, joyful entries to resume shortly. Expect lots of soft-filter pictures of my cherubic, freckle-faced four-year-old son posing in front of a big wooden building block, holding a baseball mitt or clutching a teddy bear. And, of course, the usual rainbows and unicorns and poetry.