I had in mind to write a celebratory anniversary post this week, because hey, Dan and I have been married nineteen years, and it's STILL like a slumber party we never have to go home from. We are riding into the sunset on our dire eohippus, etc. The celebratory post hasn't quite come together. Next year, when it's twenty, I'll write a real humdinger.
At some point, all Dan's troubleshooting will get us somewhere, or Verizon will stop sucking quite so much, or we'll get around to switching to Comcast (which I seem to recall switching away from because it also sucked, but I'm trying to focus on the positive here). In six months, I'll forget this hiccup even happened.
Meanwhile, I'm beset by the bizarre and selfish wish that the whole internet would go away for everybody else, too, so I could stop beating my head against this problem and get something useful done with the resources I actually do have to hand. The number of hours I've spent on not being able to finish my Black Gate post for the week would have produced probably 3,000 words of first-draft fiction, if only I could have known in advance that there was no point in trying to do any online task that couldn't be completed on my smartphone.
Murphy's Law of Conjuration dictates that, now that I've kvetched publicly about the problem, I'll get home and find that it's all fixed. At this point, that bit of chagrin seems like a perfectly good trade-off.