Goodbye Norma Jeane
I am heartbroken.
Spiraling into depression.
But mostly, I’m heartbroken.
My MacBook Pro that’s been by my side, in constant use for three years, is sick.
It was a Christmas+graduation gift from my parents in 2007. It saw me through my last semester of college, a 40-page paper about a YouTube video, CommLaw exam reviews, a six-minute slideshow of photos recapping the beauty of undergrad.
Together, we edited photos, wrote captions, copy edited articles, designed layouts, proofed, indexed and finalized a 464-page book. We wrote columns and editorials for the CT. We created 15 different versions of my resume, wrote countless cover letters and crafted eloquent emails to potential employers.
Lately, we’ve been processing hundreds of photos every few days, occasionally mashing together videos from my Flip and frequently researching grad schools and career paths. We’ve sporadically Googled the cost of living in other cities. We hosted brainstorming sessions for Rebecca’s wedding.
Now it sits unplugged on my desk, cold from lack of use.
In mere minutes Sunday night it went from researching Oscar nominees to barely breathing with a pitch black screen — the only visible light glowing from its backlit keyboard.
I kept my cool and went through Monday confident that after work my troubleshooting would bring it back to life.
I called Apple support, but they wanted me to pay for them to tell me troubleshooting options — probably ones I’d already tried.
I cried like a child whose favorite toy met an untimely death out of a minivan window on a family road trip.
I called Hugh and asked if he had any idea what could have happened.
I stared blankly at the silver shell, holding the battery in my hand, convinced it was the traitor who self-destructed and took my whole computer down with it.
Rebecca gave me a hug, poured me a glass of Chianti, we turned on our shows and I put it out of my mind for an hour or so. But I woke up this morning feeling an emptiness that the 3.7 inch screen of my phone cannot fill. Droid just doesn’t.
Candle in the Wind has played on repeat in my head and I think about our better days together.
Hug your laptops, friends. You just never know how long they’ll stay with you.
You may also want to back them up every so often.