Part two: Letter to a troubled soul

I had to leave the first blog today as it could not logically be followed by the second part of my veg out moment yesterday. After, my son left to go to his mate's for a private wake, I sat and watched a doco I had taped. I did it because to be honest I wanted to feel good about myself by watching another person's very public downfall... as if to prove to myself that no amount of money in the world can buy happiness.

In another life, I knew this person. We both turn 55 this year and we met when we were both turning 21. There was a magnetism that drew people to this man and I was likewise attracted by it/him. I was often out and about in what I now see was my manic phase and his craziness, unpredictabilty and downright dangerous side was highly alluring. I saw something that I couldn't recognise or name at the time, but there was some sort of connection, at least on my end. A close friend years later said that 'no such connection existed and that I made it up'... but I knew and still do that there were inner demons driving us both.

At the time I realised that despite being charismatic he was actually quite despicable in his entrenched attitudes verging on the anti-social. But it was all hidden beneath a carefully constructed veneer of Mr Nice Guy, Mr Talented. The gay guys wanted to sleep with him and some (including my friend) was quite bitter about his heterosexuality, proclaiming that he wasn't promiscuous (to the point of mysogny) and that all us actresses were just fantasising about him.
Yet as they say 'in vino veritas'. When alcohol was allowed full reign (this other ignorant gay friend also proclaimed publically that this person was tea-totaller!! Rubbish!!!! I know different), some of his opinions and attitudes were positively frightening to me now as a mature-aged woman. In the seventies these attitudes were so anachronistic I chose to think he was just baiting everyone for a response and a little bit of 'drama'. How sad that I now see his beliefs expressed under the influence of grog and times of pillow talk, or when he felt at ease in his own bedroom/lounge space, he was actually letting everybody in. We did not realise that this young man was so deeply troubled.

Thus I moved on in my life and was quite happy to say to those willing to listen, "I knew him before...". I watched his meteoric rise with fascination and a sense of rejection. I was one of those women he deemed beneath contempt and not suited for marrying or breeding with (not that I wanted either at that stage). His rise to me was just party talk cred and cache. I now sit and cry over my ignorance and what has happened.

He literally deserves all the flack he is copping now. After all his money made him immune from criticism. No-one would stand up and say "NO"to this man. No-one said this was unacceptable, and his dysfunctional family (particularly father) allowed him a sense of the world is wrong and we the family know the truth... so trust no-one. Sounds so similar to a religious cult and indoctrination. Yet the demons were no assuaged. Money and privilege allowed him to self medicate with alcohol (perhaps drugs.... I have no idea as I have not met him in over 24 years) and nicotine.

He hid behind a mask of stability and family. Only when his one anchor said "enough is enough" and "I am leaving" did his world begin to disintegrate. This one woman who had sacrificed so much of her life to keeping this man in balance had finally walked away for the sake of their children.

Suddenly the demons have broken free and now I feel saddened and indeed pity. Somehow I also feel a traitor to my own beliefs. I do not condone mysogny, homophobia, rascism, anti-semitism, radical religions or right-wing political blind-spots... yet I still feel that connection with this man from all those years ago.

I sat transfixed and dispassionate as the cameras revealed the downfall of a flawed man... until the experts began speaking. I did not feel sorry for him when they spoke of his need for alcohol detox and rehab, nor admiration when learning of him reaching out to actors and singers at their times of crisis. I felt that this was simply enabling behaviour, such as the Yes-people around him permitted for over 30 years.

Then one psychiatrist came on and made the comment that she believed his behaviour was consistent with Bi-Polar Mood Disorder!

KERRR CHINGGGG!

My heart is bleeding for him now. When we were both 20 we could not have known that the manic craziness was part of mental illness. We were both undiagnosed. I lived for over twenty years unaware that I was ill, until after a number of failed attempts at suicide (all designed presumably as calls for help) I was finally and correctly diagnosed and medicated.

My life had to virtually fall apart and be at rock bottom before I could accept that I was in fact ill, and would have to decide on living medicated (and muted) for life or living the risk. I still grieve for the manias and do not miss the 'black dog' yet I know it is the price to pay for the highs. Inow understand how such a man could have kept this crisis moment at bay, by being 'protected by wealth' and his destructive behaviour 'enabled' by people in whose financial interest it was to keep the commodity rolling along.

"You poor lost soul. I feel empathy now. At 55 you have to face losing almost everything before you are given the opportunity to be 'set free' by medical intervention."

"I can now see the connection I felt all those years ago, when no-body else could or would, not even you."

"See this as an opportunity. Not simply for the pseudo trendy detox and rehab stints, but the hard yards of psychotherapy and quest for wellness. I hope that you can have around you a few very trusted spirits who will accept no B/S and call it for what it is. It might mean challenging long held belief systems and your own contradictory behaviours. However, this might just free you of a damaged childhood and past, not of your making. No excuses. Your behaviour and rants cannot be undone by the words, "Sorry". They must be faced head on, with courage and strength and the willingness to pull apart all the previously accepted givens. Sometimes our families are not the safe spaces in which to do this."

"I wish you luck and one trusted friend at this time of crisis, and wish I could extend the hand of empathy and understanding across the globe... but I cannot as you are so isolated."

Synchronicity

Hi all, I know I have been (electronically) quiet for a month or more, but I am actually okay. I have been working towards my final draft of the academic component of my PhD and as it requires me to re-read and reflect on my 'writer's journal' and occasionally my Wellness Blog entries it has beena bit of a roller coaster emotionally often dipping well into my minus scales of 'unwellness' and uni-polar depression cycles. I have had to work extremely hard at centering myself, fighting the urge to self-sabbotage (especially with food and alcohol) hence weight gain through being super-critical and losing all self-confidence. It has been a battle to regain balance and control and to work as hard and effectively as I could at my highest cognitive level to produce my best written work.

I cannot stress how critical this is as some very influential people in my career have expressed doubts about my capacity to control my illness, and one in particular hinting that I actually mobilise my illness when it suits me to ensure I do not have to place my work out for public scrutiny, thus I am wasting hers and my time (and University resources). The pressure has been on for the last few weeks as this person has taken annual leave and I am availing myslef of her absence to 'prove her wrong'.

However, this added self-imposed pressure comes at a time when (as we all know) dysfunctional families become even more dysfunctional and lash out at each other. My environment has not been, how shall I say it... conducive of optimum cognitive functioning! Yet, I am slowly getting there, slower than I had hoped but I am alive and re-instilling my sense of self-belief that the PhD is not beyond me and does not belong to a 'crazy person'. I keep feeling that I am being punished for reaching too high, beyond my social level, beyond my personal life role. This is the critic inside my head, speaking at the times when I am most vulnerable.

So it is interesting to see that when I actually went into total procrastination (thus unproductive mode), three things happened to force me to rethink, today. As usual it is the coming together of random and completely separate events that for me provide clarity and a way ahead.

Over the summer I have been playing with some of the new boys' toys in our house. I have been commandeering the T-box and Foxtel IQ when they are out and programing all the crap sitcoms ( Boston Legal etc), docos, and movies I missed at the cinema. It is my guilty pleasure to sit down on my day off (Yes I know the last thing I should be doing is sitting... like a couch potato) and having a viewing feast.

Yesterday my son had a funeral to attend in the morning and I had an appointment with my psychiatrist. Arriving home to find the house empty and mercury predicted to soar to 39, I decided that this was the perfect time to avoid working completely and do a spot of hard-disk clean up on the devices. I loved Denton's interview with Mem Fox and have at least six Book Show eps to catch up on.

then my son arrived home and recounted his experience at the funeral for the father of a golfing mate ( another older father-aged figure). My son had dismissed this man as rich, lazy and miserly without friends. And this sadly appears to be the case. So it was a shock to realise that the wealthy father's funeral was such a big event with VIPs from throughout the State and Country in attendance. My son noted that he and his ex-boss appeared to be the only ones there to support their mate, and how that made him glad he went.

I explained that this was why I had encouraged him to attend, to be there for his friend as funerals are for the grieving not the deceased. What was interesting to was hear his take on a completely traditional Church funeral service with readings, prayers, hymns and the Eucharist.
having been Christened Catholic I asked my son if he took the Eucharist and he said he felt that he couldn't. Such is his disconnect between his own spiritual upbringing and his life-experiences.
However, we were able to reflect on how having money does not in and of itself constitute gaining respect and friendship from peers and colleagues. I also noted that the funeral appeared to be very religious as the man in question was retired from one of the professions and had obviously been a Mason. My son asked how I could tell, and I said the give away was the photograph of him suited and seated in a masonic-style chair. It would of course also explain the number of attendees and the actual content of the service.

It made me stop and reflect on my own father's life and that of my brother and sole surviving male cousin, also Masons, and the underlying community involvement and need to 'give back'to society as an accepted way of life. How much of this has actually been subconsciously adopted by me? It amazed me that I hadn't realised my own compulsion to 'do good' and 'fight for just causes'.

And whilst it seems that it is of comfort, in the sense of shadenfreud, that those of us without money like to bleat the refrain, "see money can't buy happiness", it is so hollow and mean spirited. We need to be honest with ourselves. Is it that we daren't think that should our lotto ticket be drawn, none of our problems would be solved?

So what does this mean for me today... still broke and likely to stay that way for the foreseeable future. Fearful that if I do not succeed at the PhD I cannot be employed in a University and will be forced to work in jobs that do not use my intellectual capabilities... all because I have a mental illness or am perceived deviant in some way?

Why can I not harness this fear and have it drive me on, instead of it becoming a humungous oppressive weight bearing down on me, pushing me to the ground when I want to soar above the clouds?

Do you know what it is like to be driven out of your home annually?

Well, it's that marvellous time of year again on the Mornington Peninsula when our population quadruples. I would estimate over 50% of the newcomers are transient, gathering together to afford the exhorbitant rents required for less than average homes.

Already before being forced to seek solitude for work (writing purposes) elsewhere, I have endured the usual yobbo NY Eve sirens, drunks in the streets despite public place alcohol bans, noisy car engines, sound systems, cans that seemed to find their way into my garden bed. And then one would think a family with small children moving in opposite would have been OK.... wrong. Do you realise just how noisy kids on scooters, bikes, and fathers with oversized off road vehicles (presumably in reverse proportion to existing masculine genitalia) can be? Then add to equation a boat with trailer in a street where a single car meeting another becomes a traffic jam!

Street cricket, that seemingly sedate game from days gone by, is no longer sedate, with a semblance of a twenty twenty match outside MY study door! Many balls hit into garden (no damage), lots of ruckus as ball or bat connects with large upright garbage bins and cheers of that horrid OiOiOi. Meanwhile respectable fathers, not playing, watching from sidelines with bottles of beer in hand on the public street. One can only assume the very large illuminated sign just up on the corner of our main road warning of huge fines for drinking in public spaces does not apply to THESE PARTICULAR holidaying Victorians!

So after requesting that balls not be hit onto the newest car in the household I was advised, less than politely that they had hired the house for the next two weeks and I should P... off. When I pointed out that I was merely trying to work IN MY STUDY and that I LIVED HERE... I was reminded to P.... OFF if I do not like it.

I do NOT LIKE NOISE and nor should I have to vacate annually when selfish tourists arrive for tranquility away from the City and shatter the very tranquility they are seeking to escape. Also couldn't there be some sort of rule that in a three bedroom house, Real Estate agents do not rent it to (at last count possible ten people, two males and presumably partners, two pre-teen smirking daughters, four juveniles under ten... aformentioned cricketers).

The thing that amuses me least is how people assume everyone who does work, does so from a City Office, or during the hours of 9 - 5, and have absolutely no idea how writers battle with the entire task. How on earth does Peter Carey manage it in the Big Apple? I can understand J K Rowling in a lovely heritage estate in rural Britain... but where do I go to before I have made my first royalties or pre-sales?

Heading bush seems to provide only a temporary respite as guess what... beauty, tranquility but no bloody internet or mobile connection. So I am still praying for a Melbourne/outer Eastern suburbs based house sit.

There has to be a perfect work space somewhere. Now Jackie how much are those studios in Abbotsford to rent... oh no good, can't sleep in the studio!

I am really starting of 2011 in a Maxine type mood.

Vale Geraldine Hoff Doyle

TO EXPLAIN NEW TEMP PROFILE SHOT:

("Rosie the Rivetter" died December 30th, 2010.)

Geraldine Hoff Doyle was 17 years old when she was spotted in a Michigan metal factory wearing the now infamous red polka-dot bandanna. After being photographed by Union Press International that day, the photo was later used by the U.S. War Production Coordinating Committee to create the image we know today.

Not only has she become a pop cultural icon, she also symbolises the struggle that still goes on for equal rights for women both at home and in the paid workforce. We, all owe her and our mothers and grandmother who fought for our rights, homage, respect and the communal generosity to continue the fight as 'we have not achieved it all' and 'we cannot expect to sit back and have it all, whilst whinging that the Feminists mislead us!' Wrong! Selfishness from the eighties onwards for both men and women drove the wishlist 'to have it all', and still does in 2011.

My wish for the coming year is no wars begun and fought in the name of democracy (please treat the community with respect and call it for what it is... bloodshed for strategic alliances or commodities) and LISTEN when we take to the streets to say we disagree!

Whilst on a Maxine-style whingefest in this first blog ( I call it therapy), I am also heartily sick of whining middle classes procaliming how tough they are doing it financially... the term asset rich, income poor to me means a desire to 'have it all' without compromise. To the newly establishing families... forget the two cars and Mcmansions with Plasmas... aim more modestly and you just might find your relationships last longer and are happier.

More wisdom for the old bitch.... if you do not look after yourself then no-one else will. Without self-respect others will not give it freely either. So be warned 'the takers' of this world. Whilst I have happily and proudly worn the mantle of mad woman for decades, I will not have that label equated with fool or stupidity. I do know what you are doing. I see the hidden agendas and I respect you all less for it.

2011 is time to stop hiding behind the dredged up 'mask of the clown'. It is Act 5 and Shakespeare's clown is now calling it like it is and others will see how they underestimated the character of the fool. Even the Tarot card may just be wrong... s/he may not need the small dog to stop stepping off the cliff whilst gazing at the skies. It might actually be a choice. the choice to search for beauty instead of earthly degradation and opportunism.

I am no longer The Fool... call me The Priestess in balance between the black and white pillars of society. My mood states may fluctuate but I will always find equilibrium! It will be when it suits me and as I work my way there, not on anyone else's timelines of expectations.

I wish everybody clarity of thought and understanding (with compassion) in 2011.

“My Grown Up Christmas List”:

Refuse to call this one a BUCKET LIST as they are goals and WILL happen.

1. To spend Christmas 2011 somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere with people needing TLC.
2. To fly over Antarctica on a NY’s Eve… or boat around the summer glaciers.
3. To see the Northern lights
4. To spend a 24 hour day in daylight (possibly Finland or Iceland)
5. To visit Machu Picchu before I am too old to climb.
6. See the Great Wall
7. Visit Valley of the Kings and Abu Symbel
8. Visit the Taj Mahal (even alone)
9. Spend some ‘me’ time on Santorini
10. Do the Yarra Valley or Melbourne hot air balloon ride
11. Do the whole Tandem parachute jump
12. Also do the V8 circuit at Sandown
13. See the shows on Broadway without a night off (or matinee off)
14. One last visit to the West End!
15. Eat at Tour D’Argent and Maxim’s de Paris (even alone)
16. See polar bears and orcas in Newfoundland ( I’ll never afford the Rocky Mountaineer trip).
17. See the golden Buddha Inside Jogyesa Temple in Seoul, South Korea
18. Visit Angkor Watt in Cambodia.
19. See the bloody South Island of NZ!
20. Lastly see Uluru, Kings Canyon, the Olgas, wave Rock, Pilbarra, cable beach and Kakadu before I shuffle off.

A Day of Peace, hopefully.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TYHCeUfoAnw&feature=player_embedded

I know this is from earlier this year on THAT anniversary but I feel it i perfect for today. You may have noticed I have been UNUSUALLY quiet lately. WEll, rest assured friend I have been dealing with the uppermost issue which affects many people at this particular time of the year... Too much to do in too little time, and despite all my 'welllness lessons' in 2010 I still put my own needs to the bottom of the list.

How is it that when you are REALLY busy, people always ask fro extra help.. (you know that old cliche that when you need something done ask a busy person)? Well if we are that good at time manegment we wouldn't look so bloody obviously busy!

So what had been going on... two important Conference Papers, numerous job applications which everybody knows takes so much time just tweaking the small bits to match the criteria to the 'T'... or is that tee?

Add to this a fresh new start on my PhD first chapter of the exegesis. YEP youe've read that right ANOTHER FRESH START... that make's Take 6 at Draft one!"

It appears that I am one of those candidates who seems destined not to be able to draft my rough work up to standard and that it is expected to virtually hit the mark in the first go!

So do I get to the subsequent chapters? Only in flow charts, mind maps (can you imagine those!), dot points, coded and marked references, research notes compiled and located in relevant colour-coded folders, but the actual first drafting of these chapters... ya gotta be kidding! And this despite every chapter having a corrseponding Conference paper or presentation!

Would you believe it has taken me over three years to begin to trust my own writing techiques... you know the ones that actually get me published.

• Write it out free flowing, just to see for stuctural cohesion.
  
• Redraft for voice.style consistency, then
  
• back through to add supporting evidence without repeating (or padding) what the previously published experts say, then
• sending to a reviewer/referee/ outisde editor for CONSTRUCTIVE commentary and objective critiscism of the writing's weakness NOT MY OWN!

Well, that's the way I am going now and believe me it appears to be bringing the wrath of the academic gods, onto my head.

So what I say.

It work for me. I am now only just able to say I KNOW this is right and will hang together and no longer feel the need to defend and justify myself all the way through the writing which invariably weakens the strength of the piece.

All so logical when looked at calmly and rationally!

Pity is that very few PhDers are able to do just that, due to the pressure and stress of both external expectations and inner self-doubt.

Now I am just dying (metaphorically) for the time when I can actually swing back into my creative work and just let the characters have free reign, even should their stories appear (as has been commented) implausible or cliched. Cliche is when something is so common it is boxed and categorized... so believe me when I say in my novel most of these women's experiences are 'easily' boxed and labelled cliched and self-indulgent.

I just want to write with authenticity and artistic freedom at last. I am NOT, repeat NOT writing capitla "l" Literature!

This time is coming and very shortly, so my deepest blackes( -4 periods) are drawing to a close, even though to many outside observers I have been functioing at +4 in the professional/public domian. We all know what that means, and the inner determination and cognitive resources required to pull that off successfully.

May I proudly announce I am making it without recourse to any form of respite hospitalisation, medication re-qdjustments at all. (Despite contstantly articulated predictions)

This is HUGE.

As many readers of this blog understand, it is not called the silly season for nothing... even the 'normal' amongst us feel compelled to 'play act happy families and western cultural myths'. For many despite being surrounded by so-called loving and supportive family, IT IS THE LONELIEST TIME OF THE YEAR.

At leas,t I just did the role this year and ignored the expectations.

I am alone but reasonably happy as loneness in itself allows me time to reflect on the important people in my life who are no longer with me; my dear mother, Ivy (who would adore the fact I do the whole baking thing from her generation), my Dad, Ted (who would be a tad disappointed that I didn't say stuff you to adult son and climb the bloody roof and bedeck the house with all the glowing lights... but he would be proud that I finally took a stand of independence), my brother Kevin (who has been so uppermost in my mind these last years when I think of him dying within the darkness of the mine's confined space... now that its the ultimate alone-ness... I have no right to self-pity), to my brother Ron (who has taught me that we do in fact reap what we sow, but nevertheless no person should die alone without at least one person by their side), and to the georgeous Michelle who never took life too seriously, and the beautiful Dizzy who unfortunately did. And to Terence and my darling Billy, and the many others taken by one of the globe's unnecessary and curable diseases. Today I dedicate to you all and promise to give thanks for just being here and giving it my best shot no matter what.

Shakespeare's Fool

As usual I will leave it to my old pal at Crabby Road to tell the story in a picture worth the proverbial... but you know me, I am not short of a word or two on the topic either.

Ah the joys of technology.
Two hard drive crashes.... who'da believed it?

Well really it was only one and the second as a consequence of the first. But let me just demonsrate what it means to have BMD and be atempting to function in the 'real world'.

The actual workload I have whilst officially on three monthe leave of absence includes:

• Writing 50-60,000 words draft of my novel
• Creating a major web site of International Conference Proceedings (with a second Conference occurring simultaneously... the reason the inaugural isn't live... the academic responsible threw it to me with a two week lead time!)
• Creating a second website for a friend... again with two weeks lead time - the same two weeks, before her story aired on the ABC TV, so that there was a public call point for contact and info.
• Creating my own updated website to accompany job applications
• Doing the actual job applications including updating a seriously non-functioning CV
• Writing three refereed journal articles (not begun yet)
• Refereeing two academic journal articles (done, at least)
• Writing two refereed Conference papers (one national and one international... half done)
• Finalising the pre-publication draft of a jointly authored academic journal (online and published... yeah)
• Keeping content live on the Swinburne Post Graduate Writers network FB page so new members from other states can gain something of benefit also.
• Keeping my own FB page live and of use to colleagues and scholars living and studying o/s.
• Keeping on top of my RSS feeds and emails filtering out research data, calls for papers, conference notifications, new journal calls for submissions (ongoing) and the ever infuriating spam.
  
• Keeping track of useful research material from O/S conference proceedings and attending one run by QUT's CCi in Melbourne last week (now chasing those feeds and recordings).
  
• And lastly supposedly applying for a writing fellowship for this summer.

Yep ,and that's just whilst I am ON LEAVE!

Being back doing the PhD in Decmeber adds....

• researching and writing final draft of exegesis
• writing and redrafting novel draft
• attending symposia

So this is a great snapshot of current life as an trainee/junior academic.

The first list is the 'own time' list of duties which are conveniently looked at as key selection criteria for employment, under the guise of collegiality, contribution to discipline knowledge, cross-institutional and industry linkages, and community involvement and contribution.

The actual workplace tasks really fall simply...

• Teaching, lecture preparation
• Student advice and academic guidance
  
• Marking
• Quality audit administrative tracking via paperwork or online survey data
• Teaching quality audit tracking via student feedback data and 360 degree surveys
• Attending discipline, department, faculty and campus admin meetings (and social events... for collegiality and demonstration of collegial commitment)
• Presenting at Conferences, running symposia, mentoring junior academic staff (or students)
• Doing your own research and publication (for productivity audits and research active status)

To think as a PhD candidate when I was on stipend all this is worth (according to the Government $11.84 net per hour)!

As a sessional, it is valued by the University as worth $90 gross per hour, but no more than ten hours a week or I will compromise my PhD candidature. (In my current situation because I am a 'bad' (read slack and troublesome) PhD candidate ZERO sessional work!

Then if I am lucky enough to gain a lectureship after the PhD I might beworth a whopping $80k gross... for a ninety hour + per week workload.

Is it any wonder people in the 'real world' often query my sanity?

I know I do.

Often.

Hence leave of absence... an existential crisis if you will, and one all normal people can have!

Yet, because I am openly diagnosed as BMD, the nameless they assume I just can't cope and am breaking down!

No.
I am having a bloody break believe it or not
And NOT A HOLIDAY either.

Then let's just throw in a little guilt....

Non-timely completion of PhD after being awarded a PhD stipend...HOW DARE I?

Even with some months left in the STANDARD FOUR YEAR PERIOD OF CANDIDATURE! Not pulling it in in three and a half... HOW SHAMEFUL AND DISRESPECTFUL....AND UNGRATEFUL!

SHE MUST BE CRAZY. Told you 'we' shouldn't have accepted a crazy candidate.

Then lets add in....

crippling financial distress... surviving on Disability Pension of $580 per fortnight. Yep you read that right. Paying off car, intenet access, funeral plans, car insurance, a silly thing called food, medications and supposedly private health insurance and a student loan. Yep, easy as... just need to do some cash in-hand house cleaning, ironing or freelance writing in my spare time... oh yeah, that's called sleeping time.

Next the clincher (and how I began this blog)

The wonderful USB external hard disc drive that has been my life saver for just over a year... and yep... here comes the brand name... WESTERN DIGITAL MY PASSPORT pocket hdd crashed with everything on it.

Not a problem you say... still got backup on laptop HDD.... you'da though wouldn't you, especially with two partitions on the HDD, one simply for data, away from applications.?

But alas, no; the problem with the WD is that it crashes the RAM on your HDD... and you cannot restore or reboot even in safe mode... need replacement RAM.

Great the data is still there but you try justifying spending nearly $100 on ram and data recovery on a 2003 laptop to a tech savvy son of 21 and an ageing luddite aged 78.

"What? When you can't even pay the family health insurance on time?"
"Buy a new laptop for Chrissake...."
"Don't go into more debt... don't take a Cash Converters loan at 24 per cent either"...
"Just use the old desktop Mac you were given"

But don't expect to buy any software of that age, or even get it wifi'd to the household LAN that you pay for... and don't expect to be allowed to have an ethernet cable running from your study to the modem (across a hallway and into son's room... hmmm now why was it located there in the first place... oh I remember I wasn't home).

Then, when I try to tell the IT guy at work that my research (on my son's laptop loaned under duress and borrowed under cintant threat of revocation should I even alter an icon place...) has found in the techie forums that this is a COMMON PROBLEM with WD usb ext HDDs and even the company software won't/can't recover the data.

Yep, built in obselescence!

But try telling that to the IT guy, because the Dean at work has just ordered a department full of them for her academic staff.

You'd think forewarning would be acceptable.... but guess what?

"Don't listen to her... she's just a crazy,crabby old bitch. She must have done it herself, not the hardware."

And so Shakespeare's fool exits stage left.