I sometimes have big problems. I always find time to work on solving my big problems because they are so big that I can’t ignore them even if I try.
I also have lots of tiny problems, such as getting an itch in the middle of my back. I always find time to solve those problems precisely because they are tiny.
But I am bedeviled by middle-sized problems. I have hundreds of them. The middle-sized problems are entirely solvable, but they would require more time and effort than the solution warrants.
For example, when I try to send an e-mail to my wife, the type-ahead function in Outlook fills in her old address, and that address doesn’t even exist in my address book. (Yes, I’ve checked carefully.) Not that it would matter what is in my Outlook address book, because somehow that file got detached from my Outlook e-mail function. If I want to send an e-mail to anyone not already in the type-ahead memory I have to cut and paste it from the address book.
I know I can solve these problems with some time and effort. But I also know from experience that if I Google those symptoms I will get 43 entirely different solutions from experts. Most of the 43 solutions will sound like this:
“Move all of your data to a different computer. Reformat your hard drive. Reinstall all of your applications. Ask the local power company to reroute the power lines near your home. If your dog is fixed, reattach his testicles. Squeeze some coal until it becomes a diamond. Run for Congress as an atheist and win. Invent cold fusion. Then reboot 400 times.”
And that’s just the first of the 43 possible solutions on the list. There’s no way I have time to open Pandora’s hard drive. So instead, I absent-mindedly send every third e-mail intended for my wife into the nothingness of her unused address and later have this conversation:
Shelly: “You never answered my question about the thing.”
Me: “Yes, I e-mailed you.”
Shelly: “I didn’t get it.”
Me: “Damn. I sent it to your old address again.”
Shelly: “When are you going to fix that?”
I have only been married for a few months, so maybe someone can tell me how long it takes before a wife stops asking when you plan to fix things. I have my fingers crossed that it stops in a few more weeks.
Anyway, I cleverly saved up a list of my middle-sized computer problems and called a computer expert from a national service to come optimize and fix everything in one marathon effort. The technician (who looked exactly like Dilbert, ironically) fixed most of the middle-sized problems, but couldn’t figure out how to delete Shelly’s old address from the type-ahead. And now it takes 15 seconds for my browser to open. So technically I guess he didn’t optimize much either.
So my choices now are to tempt divorce or follow the expert advice on Google and find my dog’s missing testicles and sew them back on. And I don’t even have a dog. I could Google some expert opinions on how to solve the divorce-versus-non-existent-dog-testicle problem but I don’t have the patience to wait for my browser to open.
I also have a lot of infinity problems. Those are the ones where before you can solve a particular problem first you must solve some other problem, and so on to infinity. For example, before I drive someplace for the first time I might want to print out directions at the computer. But first I must change the ink cartridge on the computer. And before I can do that I must go to the store and buy that cartridge. And before I do that I must find the 20% off coupon so I don’t later have shopper’s remorse. And before I do that I have to clean up my office or there is no real hope in finding that coupon. Before long I’m shingling the roof and I no longer remember where I wanted to drive.
But I did manage to scratch that itch in the middle of my back. That’s why architects design rooms with sharp corners. Apparently they have itchy backs too.