I don't have a baby, or a dog. I have an iMac.

Let me blog again, my shiny little friend.

My internet went out for a couple of hours today. Once I got over my initial panic and drank a can of diet coke, I used my caffeine buzz to go into cleaning overdrive. I couldn't pass a chair that was askew. I evenly spaced an ipod, pen, flash drive, and even a key that was sitting on a small pile of paper. Then I noticed that my stainless steel and white plastic friend was showing a little wear. The keyboard buttons were smudgy and dirty, the mouse not showing its usual patent finish. Armed with low-moisture anti-bacterial wipes, I spent the next 45 minutes using a fingertip to individually clean each button, using the mini swirl method. (The apostrophe button, by the way, was by far the dirtiest.) Then I polished the mouse, cleaning the trackball and the underside. I even cleaned the cords.

I had been looking at my keyboard with guilt for the past couple of weeks. Now I feel like a burden has been lifted. Now, my only worry is that I am developing a mad case of OCD.