Til it's gone. For the last couple days I've been afraid that my computer was dead, dying or desperately injured. There was an incident. Tea was spilled. I went to plug the damn thing in and would get flickers of light but no activity...like teaching arts at a public school. I was resigned to leave the poor thing in the care of--God help me--Best Buy, or Dell itself, watching it mournfully as I passed through my room. And just as I'm preparing to pack the paperweight up, I plug it in one last time...and it's alive, sweet Baby Moses, Jesus, and Mohammed, it 's alive.
Now there are people out there--and I use the term "people" loosely--who might scold me for being so dependent on my computer. I'm sorry, kittens, I did not invent the rainy day, I'm just hiding under the umbrellas. Half of my work is booked/confirmed/finagled through online communication. Also contained within my computer is my creative identity: my music, my writings, my cartoons. Sorry, I don't have the capacity to lug hard copy of that shit around. And of course, in my brief but torturous computerless time, fear that I would lose my work on Sweet Jane and EVERYthing else only made me want to write more. So the music is coming. It will come. The story is there, taunting me, with no small amount of irony.
An the computer lives. I kinda wanna hug it. I suppose one feels like one is building a house of cards with every detail of their life. This feeling is particularly potent for me currently. So the thought of losing the computer...not thrilling.