Pious Distress Signal.

I rather like this whole BOLD MAROON TEXT EMPHASIS schtick I've been running sporadically, so expect it to become a regular thing. However, onto more important things, like why I'm not parading around Steam right now, and the lovely oddities that inhabit my mailbox on occasion.

My computer has recently died, but in its true-to-life death bed confessions, the CPUnzan whispered, "I'm not the lap-oven netbook you think I am..." before quietly going blank, at which point I wept and unplugged him.

And then opened him up to ascertain what might have killed him.
As it would turn out, it was all foul play.
I believe I mentioned it in a post about a year ago, or at least a hefty collection of months ago, that I bribed an aging neighbor who I often worked for named John with baked goods to resuscitate my dear hap-hazard CPUnzan. He did.

Poorly.

It would seem that I've essentially been running a FRANKENSTEIN'S MONSTER of an OS with thoroughly incompatible drivers. I will also take a moment to say that I very much dislike when people call Frankenstein's Monster "Frankenstein," because the book is very specific in stating that Victor Frankenstein is the doctor who constructed the monster, and is so disgusted with his work that he disowns his creation and refuses to name it. Frankenstein's Monster is not Frankenstein. Frankenstein is Doctor Victor Frankenstein. Frankenstein's Monster is the unnamed creature's given title.

Rant, rant. Literary snobbery.

Regardless, I've now embarked on an epic quest to wade into the depths of binary space and wrest CPUnzan's restless OS-soul from NEGLECT, SHAME, and my PRESUPPOSED DISDAIN.

This actually just means I've backed up my data, blank-slated, and have smooshed a bootable drive into it, loading up Windows 7.

Things seem a good deal more stable, but I lack, as of yet, Audio and Display Drivers.
Scrolling my external drive unleashed a series of display chops that had been UNSEEN SINCE THE LIKES OF BRUCE LEE. As such, I'll be offline a bit longer while I reinstall my cleaning software, find proper drivers that fit CPUnzan and his OS, and perhaps sort through the downloaded miscellanea I have had to back up.

...I found a surprising amount of trap-doujins linked to me by none other than Robin Poulton, Trap-Master Extraordinaire. While Eiki's since taken that title (Though, they may perhaps share it like some sort of shota-con'd skirt-tenting Roman consulate) I think I'll actually shame myself by compiling it and uploading it for interested parties.

If you'd be interested in receiving a link to it, I'll thank you to have enough audacity to request so in commentary or private-message once I've got everything up and running. That's right, if you're going to PERUSE BLATANTLY EROTIC COMICS FEATURING YOUNG BOYS IN DRAG, I'd like for you to admit it beforehand.

If that's not your sweet-tooth, I've also found a lot of old music ranging from the elusive Omega Boost soundtrack to a collection of lounge-piano numbers by Bob Acri and Haushka. I might get that all put together and shared, too.

Now on to mail.

As you may know, a dear friend of mine, Onni, died of a heart-attack not too long ago.
I've been diligently writing his mother Iris with odd drawings, things that interested her son, and words of encouragement. Yesterday, I received a letter back.

It was a typed letter that explained her surprise and grief, but her comfort in knowing his friends care about her and that he had the company of such people. It also included a collection of meticulously hand-cut paper flowers and a sum of money that Onni had apparently been saving for me.

I took the time to unbox some more of my glass frames, and quickly hung the letter and it's contents up next to those I'd received from her son, and a lengthy beautifully sentimental one I'd received from Emily's mother before quietly writing a letter to get about sending the money back.

It was odd. It put me at ease to hear from her. So much so that I finally felt composed enough to open the phantom valentine that was given to me from beyond the grave by Onni. It contained an embroidered heart-pillow and a small box of chocolates I shared with my family, and a very short but affectionate handwritten valentine that concluded with a "jag älskar dig."

I think I've made my peace. I convinced myself I had before, but I hadn't.
I'm happy and nostalgic and not wounded and nostalgic.
I needed to open that package.

I don't really know what else to say. It's not really a topic I can squeeze any bold maroon text-emphasis in, because it's serious. I suppose I'll just end out on a TL;DR:

• Expect to see more BOLD MAROON TEXT EMPHASIS.
  
• I'll be gone for a bit while I revive and hopefully fix all driver-errors with my laptop.
• Victor Frankenstein is not his unnamed monster.
  
• I'll be uploading music and pornography I'd discovered while cleaning-out my old hard-drive for interested parties.
• I'd gotten a beautiful letter from Iris.
• I've opened the phantom valentine.
• I am well and happy.