I am surprised it’s taken me this long to get to this point, but…
God, do I hate Android.
Why? Because it hides your freaking files, that’s why.
See, this morning I brought my tablet with me when I went to my appointment with Doctor Chao because with Doctor Chao, there WILL be a long wait.
Sure enough, I ended up sitting in an exam room for half an hour or so. During that time, I wanted to use my tablet, but I had forgotten to inquire about Wi-Fi, so I had to use my tablet sans internet.
“No problem!”, I thought, “I’ll just blog.”
So I opened up the office suite called OfficeSuite on my Amazon Kindle Fire 10 and started typing away., figuring I would just email the file to myself when I got home.
Sounds plausible enough, doesn’t it?
But when I went to do so, I couldn’t find it. Whatever directories the email program could access did not contain my file, and there was no way to escape that tiny file area in order to access the larger file system.
Same with the so-called Files app As far as it was concerned, my file did not exist.
And yet, if I looked for it in OfficeSuite, there it was.
As a lifelong PC user, this is unbelievably frustrating. Apparently, all apps in Android exist in their own individual file universe, inaccessible to any other app.
Exactly where is it putting the file? Don’t worry your pretty little head over that. You a clearly too stupid to handle the vast mysteries of a DIRECTORY TREE STRUCTURE.
So there’s 150+ words of genuine blogging trapped on my tablet despite it being on the internet, as is its desired destination.
I’m going to have to find a freaking file host, aren’t I?
More after the break.
Here there be dragons
One thing that sort of underwrites my social anxiety is that the place from which I draw my wit and warmth and charm also has monsters in it.
And if I am being all spontaneous in realtime, one of them might just slip out, leading me to say something I really, really shouldn’t.
Something super perverted, or a wisecrack that is far too cutting, or a statement that makes me seem creepily cold and detached.
Or any number of other gaffes too horrifying to contemplate.
And the more tense or agitated I am, the more likely it is to happen as that overcharge of energy seeks to express itself in words.
At that point, I could say damned near anything.
So the question becomes, what then? How do I recover from that?
I would probably fall back on my charm and candor by immediately say, “Wow… why the hell did I say that? Sorry folks. Sometimes my crazy mind grabs the microphone.”
That might work. Heck, if I am really cooking, it might even make people like me even more than they did before.
Note how when I started talking about this, it didn’t take for me to slip into thinking of it terms of my doing standup comedy.
Maybe I should get back to doing that,
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.