We Shall Not Be Moved

Yesterday I wrote a response to Tracy Smith's Letter to the Editor in The Auroran that apeared  last  Tuesday.  I wrote it twice. 
After I sent  the first one, I checked the file to make sure it went. 
There was no trace.
I gave it time. 
Still it remained hidden. 
I re-wrote  and sent it once more into the breech.  . 
Checked the file again. 
The second  vanished as well. 
I  e-mailed   and asked  had the editor received either missive. 
He had  both.
He asked which I wanted  to use. 
The second I said.
It was slightly more pointed in the re-write. 
The kerfuffle severely shook  my confidence in my competence  with the computer. Of course it's  my fault. Computers don't err.
Although it  has been erratic for days. 
Time is always later than shown.. 
Various windows pop up unbidden.
Other weird things happen too numerous to mention
This morning, it occurred to me. the sent file gas never been emptied. 
 Maybe it's chock- a- block.
Or full to the brim. 
Or burgeoning at the bottom .
I scrolled  back to the  beginning. 
And there my astonished gaze beheld yesterday's two missing e-mails at a date in  2010.
My Lord, I thought, I've created a time machine.
I  fixed the clock without knowing why it went awry. 
I shall phone my grand-daughter and  seek advice about how to deal with the quirky sent folder.  
Then,  perhaps,I can turn my attention to writing a new post.
It's possible that somewhere not far, someone, not unfamiliar,  has fashioned a wax shape  of  my computer and is furiously sticking it with pins. 
It's a good thing I don't believe in that stuff. 
If worst comes to worst, I shall  buy a lap-top and keep on trucking.