It was an afternoon just like any other, I was at my compuCRASH. Surprise! Down went the hard drive. My trusty old computer is no longer so trusty — well, it never has been. This is the fourth damn hard drive that’s crashed.
But since it was the fourth one to go down in flames, I was prepared. There’s no need to panic, no reason to go ballistic. All my data and music are safely backed up. I do have the urge, however, to hit something. Hard. Then hit it again. Harder.
These are the future? These are the wonders of the modern world? I don’t think so. They’re temperamental, touchy little malcontents. Happy and efficient one minute, a pipe bomb the next. Well, I’ve had it, they can crash and burn somewhere else for all I care. Computers won’t get any more data from me. Not one pixel.
Touch the wrong combination of buttons and the computer starts talking, in a set-your-teeth-on-edge, robotic monotone. Or the screen disappears. Or the keyboard locks. Computers aren’t fun, they’re not helpful. They’re hemorrhoids. That’s right, pains in the ass. I don’t need another one — I already have a touchscreen. I’m driven daily to the very brink of sanity.
I’m going back to pencils. If one breaks, I have a sharpener. Besides, I can buy pencils by the dozen, losing one or breaking it doesn’t mean disaster. I like pencils, I like listening to them scratch out words. I like the erasers, too, the dust they leave on the paper. You just brush it away with your hand. Pencils are a very interactive tool. I love them. I do.
The damn computer is scheduled for repair on Monday. Publikworks should be back in operation 2 November. Or thereabouts. Give or take a year. Maybe.
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