Death (and Rebirth) of a Computer
You can have your plague of locusts, your boiling rashes and your famines. Child’s play, I say. Waterboard me, torture me, burn my fingertips with a butane lighter.
Just don’t mess up my computer.
My computer has been at the doctor this week. Unlike your standard doctor, my computer didn’t spend a lot of time in a small room in its underwear, reading the June 1998 copy of People Magazine. It did, unfortunately, have a virus which corrupted/crashed/murdered the hard drive. The experts tell me that’s not a good thing.
When everything went to hell on Tuesday, I was despondent. I cradled the computer like a dying child. At one point, I may or may not have said, “Don’t do this to me, I can’t go on without you.”
Thankfully, much of my information was saved – shout out to Brad Ham and the boys at Lipscomb’s tech services desk for that one. What’s unfortunate is that now I have to spend the next three days putting everything back how it was.
For a machine that supposedly makes my life easier, this part sure is a pain in the ass. I’m now on my fourth hour of installing, tweaking, signing in, downloading and generally putting my life back in order. It took me two years to do all that the first time; this way is much more nerve-wracking, especially now that everything has updated.
TweetDeck? Gone, or at least my version is no longer available anywhere that my techno-idiot skills can find. New Firefox? Eh, not a fan. It’s not really fun to explain to Gmail why I have two accounts and that I want to be logged into them at all times. Technology, I had forgotten, doesn’t know how to read my mind and I had a hard time explaining what I wanted to a non-responsive machine.
I had no idea how dependent I was on this machine. My entire life is on here. Resumes’, tax returns, pictures, passwords. I got a computer so I didn’t have to remember stuff; now I have to remember it all at once, or remember where I put something that will help me in my old man-ness.
I was sort of hoping that between my laptop and my wife, my days of remembering things with my brain were over with.
(True story: I attempted to write this on my wife’s desktop. I got to about here and gave up. I’m so used to my computer that the act of typing on another pains me. Plus, her keyboard sticks. I suppose I am a creature of habit, or a massive vagine.)
Worse than the inconvenience is the uselessness; I find that I’m no good to anyone without my laptop. Over the last few days e-mails went unanswered, fantasy baseball line-ups were unchecked and sadly, nary a word was written for this blog that tens of people read each week. Not to go all #FirstWorldProblems on you, but I got bigger troubles than you people realize.
Like forgetting a wallet, a cell phone or pants, being without my laptop made me feel naked. I carried my backpack with me more out of habit than anything – there was nothing in it for the last three days.
It wasn’t all bad – not having my laptop didn’t force me to feel plugged in at all times, lest I miss something. I didn’t check Twitter or Facebook or anything else I check in my cyber-nerd obsessive-compulsive way. My wife was much happier.
Still, I like my machines like I like my golf swing: consistent. (Those that know my golf swing are laughing hysterically right now.) I assume I’ll get everything back just how I like it in a few days or weeks, only to have technology kick me in the teeth with some new development.
If my Facebook moves to timeline tomorrow, I’m going back to bed.