Circle the wagons

I have read that multitasking is impossible for a human to accomplish. We are told that we just switch tasks so quickly that it appears that we are doing several things at once, though in reality our minds can focus only on one thing at a time, though this article before you disproves this theory.

Let me explain.

I was beginning a video editing project when I noticed that no program icons existed on my desktop, making it a little more difficult to begin the project. I dug deeper and discovered a dark feathered truth: a digital vulture had been feasting on a couple of my downed programs, leaving only a worrisome trail of a feast gone bad to lead me to the cratered carcass of two once-pristine programs that had served me loyally for quite some time.

A half-day passed before my eyes before I located the digital remains. Shortly thereafter the laptop intoned an ancient incantation as runes ran rampant across my screen. Though I was busy all the while recovering from the monsoon that had shanghaied my laptop I was secretly writing an article in the hopes that it might appear before your discerning eyes, though the odds-on favorite was that the laptop was destined to be declared a doorstop and that my column would never grace a monitor or revel in the feel of print.

It was then that my anti-virus intruder alarm sounded off like an air-raid siren, causing me to spill some coffee on the keyboard, which, as you all know, works like WD-40 or superglue on the keys, depending on the java-to-sugar-ratio. The circling shadows of flying carnivores swooped across the screen as anti-virus bots manned the anti-aircraft weapons, which were in short supply due to my having failed to renew my yearly subscription.

The video editor suddenly displayed everything in grainy black and white, while full-color was being handcuffed and rousted from the screen. Throughout all this turmoil I continued to type madly away, hoping to outpace the course of events.

While this war-of-the-worlds unfolded I kept one eye on my article, one eye on the imminent attack and the third eye closed, praying for some intervention that might once again bring harmony to my undertakings.

With no consideration to my predicament, I saw, in the background, parachutes floating in all sorts of salesmen, each frothing to sell me some insurance, a car, refinance my house or refer me for a series of botox injections. In a blink I disconnected from the Internet as my laptop uttered a sigh of relief. It was high-noon and the train was pulling into town.

Now I do not go around bragging about it, but I am not without resources when the on-screen bandits begin to swagger, threaten and sometimes pistol whip my good digital denizens. While I will not get into the meat of the matter, suffice it to say that I can defeat many megabytes of interlopers simultaneously, though I do not have the stomach to haul them all to Boot Hill and tuck them in. I leave that to my back-up army of specialized bots, which handle all manner of unpleasant tasks, leaving me free to implement strategic decisions for the common good.

In two clicks of the mouse the invasion was undone, leaving me free to finish my article. Unfortunately, my writing had withered under the onslaught and was trying to slither out the dog door when I caught it. No torture was required, as a stern lecture and a peek into purgatory did the trick. Moments later I was merrily tickling the keyboard, scratching my back, sipping on some coffee while encouraging six studly programs up and over the pass, then down into a restive meadow, while I confidently sent my article flying through the again activated Internet. Though at times dicey, most of us seem capable of doing several things at once.

Just don't park your gum on the keyboard as you walk by. was last seen trying to bull-whip a Bucky Ball and, with practice, might get a handle on it. Lash your comments to him in any fashion you feel best.

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