My Alter Ego, Who can Copy and Paste with One Hand Tied Behind His Back, Blindfolded

So there I was, only an hour ago, or perhaps it was only thirty minutes ago, how can I tell without the cigarette reference to measure time?

There I was, having written my previous post on LibreOffice Writer, because this is Lenux and not MicroSoft, and wanting to 'Select All', then 'Copy', then 'Paste' to my blog, and post it for all the world to see my rambling mind in print-- there I was, but my only choice was to 'Paste', paste what? No, 'Select All' and 'Copy' was what I wanted, but over and over again, my only choice to 'Paste', and I even tried pasting to meet the computer's needs, on a blank page, but when I selected 'Paste' there was nothing, nothing but the choice to 'Copy', but copy what? The page was blank, and the page that was full, the only choice to 'Paste' and so I grabbed my pouch of Drum tobacco, which I discovered had a wee bit of tobacco dust left in it, and some rolling papers, and I grabbed a little box of wooden matches, and took the dog for a cigarette, and we walked into the fields where armies once clashed, but Bella was uncooperative, and wanted to attack everything, to clash with imaginary armies of dogs, and she pulled at the leash and snarled, and I was woebegone.

On a muddy road with a green field on one side and a chocolate brown field on the other, with gray skies above, and all around, gloomy gray right down to the ground, I emptied the tobacco dust on to a rolling paper, trembling a bit, too much coffee perhaps, Bella's leash affixed to my arm, and she pulled, and I almost spilled the dust from the little paper, but did not, as I was very focused, and then the raindrops fell, and as I rolled, the raindrops fell onto the small rolling paper, and only onto the rolling paper it seemed, because I felt them nowhere else, and the paper tore, and I tried again, agitated, like the agitated leaves I had spied on the tree in the wind, yet this time successfully, and I placed the thin cigarette into my mouth, and pulled out the little box of matches, and opened it, and there were two used wooden matches inside, their brief lives spent, and I asked, why? Why had I not taken the lighter next to the little wooden box of matches? Why Bella?

Then I felt the raindrops, and I said to Bella, "Though we haven't been out for long, we must hurry back to the house because of the raindrops."

And near the house, on the ground, the detritus of the night before, half of a chocolate bar, wet and smashed into the sidewalk, and a few pieces of hard candy, 'boiled sweets' they call them in England, strewn about the front door, but there was no time to ruminate on last night's events; though the raindrops had stopped, they might fall again, so into the house we sped. 

And back in my bedroom I found the lighter, and went out onto the back porch, and lit the thin cigarette made of tobacco dust from the very bottom of the pouch, and I smoked it, oh yes, I smoked it, down to the very end, and it burnt my fingers, and I thought a 'roach clip' might come in handy right then, which is what certain disreputable people used to call the electrical clip used for holding the bitter end of certain disreputable cigarettes, and I smoked my cigarette down to a tiny nub, even without the clip.

And then I saw the sun, trying to get through the gray clouds, and I remembered that the sun is always there, above the clouds, and even at night, on the other side of the Earth, the sun is always there.

And I counted that cigarette,
'One', I said aloud,
 and I felt good that I was still in control.

*******************************************************************************

It is now much later in the day, and I have just smoked the fourth cigarette.

There is always that shop that is open, even on holidays, and I had found it , and thus it was that I'd had the second, and third, and now the fourth cigarette.

And when I'd asked Philip, who is a computer man, to help me with my copy and paste dilemma, which I had struggled with for so long, he showed me how to resolve that dilemma, and in an instant, my words were copied and pasted.

I mentioned in my last post that there is another Schroeder who rambles, and who has a blog called, 'Schroeder's Ramblings,' which is only slightly different from mine in that his are ramblings, plural, and mine is rambling, singular. Apparently, this other Schroeder takes a little break between his ramblings, while I do not; mine is one long rambling event. Nevertheless, despite the great difference between his having isolated ramblings and my having one streaming, interminable ramble, I was dismayed when I saw this, and thought about changing the name of my blog to something like, 'Rambling Schroeder,' or 'The Schroeder Rambler,' or, 'There is a Chimp on a Bicycle Cycling Round in my Head, and My Name is Schroeder, and These are My Unending Rambling Thoughts in Cyber Print.'
But then I thought, why not see this other Schroeder as a friend, a brother even, or an alter-ego? Why not join with him, and we can ramble together, we Schroeders?
This other Schroeder and his ramblings, which can be found at schromnc.wordpress.com
is a very different type of rambler; a technical computery kind of rambler, which is truly a missing side of me, as the reader can tell by my aforementioned struggle with 'copy' and 'paste'.
While I speak of cigarettes, or soothsay, or run down memory lane, or wax poetic about trivial things, my other side writes of having problems with the Dell XT, which I believe is a computer, though it could be a car, I suppose. 
Despite his having last posted in 2008, and thus taking a very long break between ramblings, I will adopt this other Schroeder as my technically minded alter-ego.
Welcome to my other side, brother Schroeder.