I was going to write about my building excitement for the royal wedding, but will save that for next week. Today, instead, I write about the horrors of technology and wonder how you, Stiletto faithful, deal with dead laptops, frozen flash drives, and assorted other problems that befall the innocent in this technology-enabled world.
It all started last week when my trusty PC, the one that I've been working on for over six years, turned itself off and wouldn't turn back on. It was as if it was saying "go on without me; I'm just so very tired," while I was screaming, "Don't you die on me, PC!" (Did I mention that I don't back up my documents as a general rule?) I walked past it several times during the day, disconsolately pushing the "on" button to see if it would come back, even just for one day so I could gather some of the work I had been doing. No chance.
I did what anyone would do and called my friend, Susan, the baker, to lament my problem.
"No problem!" she said cheerfully. "My cousin is a tech wizard!"
And indeed he was. I brought him the laptop, he recovered everything and also installed all sorts of new bells and whistles so that the thing runs like a top. And there was joy across the land.
While I was waiting for the PC to return, I decided to buy a Mac, having had my fill of computer-killing viruses. I had heard wonderful things about Macs and decided that the time was nigh. I bought a fun, little 13" laptop (the 17" was $600 more and I didn't want to spend the extra money). While I was waiting for the new modem so that I could install the wireless internet capabilities on the Mac, I used the kids' computer, otherwise known as "Old Faithful." Old Faithful has served us well, now being into its second decade. Sure, it's slow, but it's dependable. I'm working on a new book and made some headway, not having the distraction of the internet to help me veer off course. I had made great headway, and had twenty pages written...some of them even good. Today, after catching up on work, I plugged in the flash drive, the new book being the only thing that I had backed up, hoping to write another five or so pages.
The flash drive was dead. It won't load, it won't open, and none of the documents seem to be on there anymore.
I went through several stages of grief, but thankfully, never broke down as completely as I wanted to. It's just twenty pages, right? They might not be any good, yes? It may be the writing gods' way of telling me to start again.
I'm not buying any of it. The flash drive is now in the capable hands of Susan the baker's cousin who hopefully, will work his magic.
In the meantime, if you hear the rantings of a mad woman in your neck of the woods, it is just I wondering why we need all of this stuff in the first place when paper and pen served us just fine for centuries.
Horror stories, please. They will make me feel better. And the ones with happy endings will really make my day.