October 13, 2022
Being ghosted is so sad. Especially by collaborators who’ve been at my elbow since the days of AOL and dial-up. I still need these allies like Seattle needs lattes and the Chicago Bears need a quarterback (again). Yet when I call on them, too often I’m greeted by a swirly blue wheel and the distressing words “Not Responding.”
That’s right, I’m being scorned, dumped, ignored, disrespected by MS Word and Outlook. Was it something I said? I really didn’t think I was asking so much. Can we talk? Maybe you can just show me the morning mail (Not Responding).
Okay, let me update my calendar (Not Responding). Open a new .docx file? (Not Responding). Please save the 6,257 words I’ve just added to my novel-in-progress (I told you already, nudnik, NOT RESPONDING! Go away!). That last one is slightly exaggerated but that’s how it feels. I’d be pulling my hair out if I had any left.
Worst is when the non-response freezes the whole machine. I grit my teeth, restart, and sit there fuming about the wacky-jacks who think Bill Gates is plotting world domination when he probably couldn’t plot a one-car funeral.
I’ve tried running the repair program, un- and reinstalling everything, to no avail. My laptop is no spring chicken and Office 365 is probably such a memory hog that the processor leaps into its own Great Resignation, not to be denied.
I’m about ready to move to a desert island, write everything in charcoal on tree bark, and send it to the mainland by carrier pigeon. Or I can spring for a new laptop. But years ago when I was an undergrad, folks who were clueless and annoying were labeled “not responsible.” Those not-so-good old days are back. Just ask Mr. Jones.