Word of warning: If you call me before 8AM EST I will pick up bleary eyed, with morning breath palpable across phone lines, slurring my words in a groggy “Hello? Who died?” Yes, in my world, phone calls before 8AM mean calamity.

So when I pick up the phone at 7:30AM one snowy Friday morning, I’m nervous as I punch in the numbers. I reassure myself about 20 times that the recipients of this call will be awake. Hearts will not leap into chests at that first jarring ring of a phone. This is far from my average phone call. The number I am calling is a land line, the people I am calling do not have cell phones. Further more, they are away from home, staying overnight in NYC. In this day and age of everyone has cell phones, I’ve never had to place a call at a hotel. Do hotels even do such a thing anymore? They must, though I don’t have full confidence in this belief as I punch in the numbers I found in a google search.

The Harvard Club is more than accommodating in putting my call through. When my aunt answers the phone there is no hint of panic (nor groggy morning breath) in her voice. After a quick chat to the purpose of canceling our breakfast date (which I was really looking forward to, curse you tonsillitis!) I roll over and go back to sleep. Just as I’m drifting off I hear my phone buzz. I bolt awake, not looking at the incoming number, answering my phone the way I thought only people on unrealistic TV shows do. Hello? I squeak, suppressing “WHO IS IT? WHO DIED? WHAT’S GOING ON??” It’s my aunt again. My heart settles back in my chest. She inquires about the status of my computer.

I have the worst luck with computers. So of course the month after the warranty expired, mine started a downward spiral: pop-up windows about hard drive failure and spontaneously crashing. I figured its days were numbered and procrastinated on the inevitable sans-computer-computer-freak-out. Then in a miracle similar to Hanukkah (I’d like to think), after six days of hibernation (I didn’t bring it when I went home for Christmas) I turned on my computer and everything seemed more or less back to normal. (Less in that I can’t tilt the screen with out it shutting down but more in that it stopped mentioning hard drive failure ten times a day.) Point is, it’s totally usable. That’s what I told my aunt, in an abridged version. She then explains, “Your uncle and I miss reading your blog. You’re a good writer [she may have said ‘great writer’…I wish I remembered]. Your mother said you were having problems with your computer and that’s why you hadn’t updated.” (Further proof my mother reads my blog.)

I wish I had an excuse to explain my lack of writing, but honestly I’ve just been struggling to find motivation… I start to say. I don’t really know where I’m going with this explanation, which feels almost confession like. I haven’t been writing, for no good reason, and I feel guilty about it. There you have it. Before I start psycho-analizing my lack of motivation, my aunt says “Your uncle and I want to buy you a computer.”

It’s not even 8AM and I’ve been offered a computer. At least I think I have….I have had weirder dreams. I forget how the conversation ended, if I was able to fall asleep after I hung up the phone, but if I didn’t dream it, I know she was serious. So not only does my aunt, a published writer whom I hold in high respect, think I’m a good (yeah, I don’t think she said great, she’s not one for exaggeration) writer, she likes my blog. As if that wasn’t motivation enough, she wants to buy me a computer. Wow. I always dreamed of having a patron of the arts but alas they’ve gone out of style since Mozart’s time. Yet it looks like I found one. If this doesn’t keep me updating, nothing will (not to discourage free beverage, compliments, and comments, those all help too!)