My laptop’s name is Fergus MacBook (yes, I name inanimate objects). But, the name has to be pronounced correctly, like a drunk pirate doing a crappy Scottish accent. Or just a drunk.
John shakes his head and cries a little every time I say it like that. I’ve been saying it like that for five years. That’s a lot of tears (I savor them all).
The other night, Fergus MacBook’s power adapter conked out, leaving me with about three and a half hours of battery life to see me through twenty-four hours. No laptop (so no internet, either. Or writing, because I do that on Fergus), no cable (so no catching a movie or seeing what nonsense is on Syfy), and no music (yeah, my iPod battery was dead, too).
So, I sat down with a book (a real book, with pages and everything) and read in silence like it was the 1990s. I was even wearing a plaid flannel shirt.
It occurred to me then that I may be a little too dependent on all this stuff.
I get nostalgic now and then for mix tapes and used books with underlined passages and notes in the margins, but this is the first time I realized just how far from those things I’ve moved. A lot of what I do and own is digital.
It makes me want to do more in the context of the real world, even if it’s just making a CD (which is silly considering I don’t own a CD player anymore) or sewing another dress.
Just to re-affirm that I’m still here and have things to share. Oddly, it feels like it’s getting harder to do that.