A poison Apple.
My computer has passed on! My Mac is no more! It has ceased to be! It has expired and gone to meet its maker! It's bereft of life; it rests in peace! It's pushing up the daisies! Its computing processes are now history! It has kicked the bucket; it has shuffled off its mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!! I HAVE AN EX-APPLE!!! (with heatfelt apologies to Monty Python)
It was a quick and painless death. It was perfectly healthy three days ago, whizzing along the internet, but after only one day of groaning, its hard drive simply stopped. I had my computer for nearly four years, and it never so much as froze on me. I never bothered to name my Mac, because I guess I never really considered it separate from me. It was an extension of myself like a limb, but an awesome limb that played music and accessed the internet. I can't begin to imagine life without convenient internet access. It's where I read the news, do my work (and avoid doing my work!), communicate with the outside world, listen to music, watch television and movies, and keep up with friends. I even use my computer for my morning alarm. I could resurrect my Mac, but it'd cost around $700 American dollars to fix a four year old computer. In laptop years, I believe that made it around 212 years old at its time of death. I just don't have that kind of money, and my parents aren't going to fork it over after they've just paid taxes and for a trip to Australia all while contributing as much as they can for two kids in college. Sure, there is a computer lab at the library, but it's a fifteen minute walk away; the library closes early everyday, and it's barely open on Sunday. St. John's has a "computer lab," but it consists of two heavily used beige dinosaurs from the 1990s. Worst of all, all the computer labs consist entirely of PCs. Not that there is ever a convenient time for one to lose a limb, but I have three papers due in the near future. When my laptop started to moan at me, I got scared. Huge swatches of my life exist only the ethereal digital world. Thankfully, I rushed store its entire memory cryogenically on a portable hard drive. Someday, I'll be able to bring it back- maybe in a different body- but my Mac will rise again. Though this time I'll have have a name for it: Lazarus.
It was a quick and painless death. It was perfectly healthy three days ago, whizzing along the internet, but after only one day of groaning, its hard drive simply stopped. I had my computer for nearly four years, and it never so much as froze on me. I never bothered to name my Mac, because I guess I never really considered it separate from me. It was an extension of myself like a limb, but an awesome limb that played music and accessed the internet. I can't begin to imagine life without convenient internet access. It's where I read the news, do my work (and avoid doing my work!), communicate with the outside world, listen to music, watch television and movies, and keep up with friends. I even use my computer for my morning alarm. I could resurrect my Mac, but it'd cost around $700 American dollars to fix a four year old computer. In laptop years, I believe that made it around 212 years old at its time of death. I just don't have that kind of money, and my parents aren't going to fork it over after they've just paid taxes and for a trip to Australia all while contributing as much as they can for two kids in college. Sure, there is a computer lab at the library, but it's a fifteen minute walk away; the library closes early everyday, and it's barely open on Sunday. St. John's has a "computer lab," but it consists of two heavily used beige dinosaurs from the 1990s. Worst of all, all the computer labs consist entirely of PCs. Not that there is ever a convenient time for one to lose a limb, but I have three papers due in the near future. When my laptop started to moan at me, I got scared. Huge swatches of my life exist only the ethereal digital world. Thankfully, I rushed store its entire memory cryogenically on a portable hard drive. Someday, I'll be able to bring it back- maybe in a different body- but my Mac will rise again. Though this time I'll have have a name for it: Lazarus.