Why I despise being "Accountable"

Imagine.  You log onto the computer.  You decide to check your email because you haven't checked it for over a month.  You click the email icon.  The window pops up that asks for your "username" and "password."  You type in what you think they are. Wrong!  You take a deep breath and try again, carefully watching you fingertips hit one key at a time.  Wrong!  Okay, it must be that other combination of your last name, first name, address, favorite color and/or phone number you use sometimes.  Wrong!  You click the "forgot you username" link.  It asks for your password.  You click the "forgot your password" link.  It asks for your username.  You give up.

       You decide to put your email woes out of your mind and move on to another computerized business that is keeping you inside on Saturday morning.  The next item on the list is to check your grades.  Oh look another little window!  You smile smuggly as you defeat this "username" and "password" because you remember exactly what they are.  Well you're wrong!  You click this "forgot you password" link.  It asks for your father's middle name.  Wrong!  Apparently he has recently had it changed.

        You give up and head over to something that is sure to relax you and calm the vein that is now twitching under your left eye.  How about some music.  You'll splurge and spend a dollar for that new favorite song you've had stuck in your head all month.  You find the song.  You click "buy."  A window.  You wrack your brain to remember this "username" and "password."  Wrong!  Again.  Wrong!  Again.  Wrong!  You click this "forgot your password" link.  No problem here.  Your account information has now been sent to you via email.  Sigh!

You go back to the email.  You try again and again and again.  The monitor politely tells you that your account has been locked for twenty-four hours because anyone who forgets this obvious information must be an evil email looker-atter.  You politely hit the monitor against the wall.

I hate "usernames" and "passwords."  My mind is just not good at sorting them and retaining them for more than three seconds.  I mean, whose brain was created with a nonsensical combination of personal information section?  Even if I were smart enough to find a place for that stuff in my brain, how am I supposed to tell which "username" or "password" goes with which account?  Why not write them down?  I did, but like the majority of people in this world would, I lost the paper.

There is something morally wrong with creating a multitude of identities and spreading them all over the internet.  Why can't I just be me?  I'm pretty sure that if my ancestors knew that their great, great, great, great grand niece has ten different names, they would burn me at the stake for being a witch or something.

It is so pathetic that we can't just trust each other.  I'm me.  I promise, but the monitor doesn't care.  Honestly, the only people who would want to get into my accounts would know a lot more about dishonesty and be able to get in anyway.  This "username" and "password" stuff just keeps me out.

I despise being "accountable."  Someday, in the ideal society, no one will have "usernames" or "passwords."  Or maybe everyone will just have really amazing memories, and then I won't be there.

 

Life Comes at you Fast. Get attitude insurance.

Yesterday at 6:20 in the morning, I lost my mind. I lost it completely. I screamed, banged, kicked, stomped and slammed. It was all for a very valid reason, at least, in my mind at the time. I could not find my special keys. The keys with my jangly key chains that I use everyday were missing. It wasn't that I was worried that I wouldn't find them eventually. I was certain they were in the house somewhere. I just did not want to use the spare, and I let the whole world know that I was mad. I screamed all the way out the door and kept screaming after I got in the car and turned that dreadful spare key in the ignition. My neighbors could probably hear me screaming as I drove down the street.

When I got to school, I said to myself, "Today is going to be a terrible day." That was when I realized that my day did not have to be so terrible. I could actually have a really good day if I tried. I could not control losing my keys, but I could slam on the brakes and make the rest of my day one worth smiling about.


A lot happened during the rest of my day that could have made it a fiasco. I had forgotten my lunch. My ballroom partner was absent, and my gym clothes were wet. Luckily, I had already decided to have a good day. I guess you could say I had attitude insurance protecting my feelings as I stumbled over the mountains that I decided to make into mole hills.


I like my attitude makeover, but I have to warn everyone that it does not come without a price. The premiums can seem extremely costly. It requires laughing in the face of embarrassment, smiling at your family, and shaking off stress, but when life comes at you fast, you'll be relieved to have it.