The prodigal laptop has returned.
It’s been on a six-day retreat in Houston, getting its hinges fixed. Several weeks ago, one of them popped and bad things ensued. Bits and pieces in the back loosened and bent, and the monitor started to come apart at the seams. I was afraid it was going to spit little internal organs all over the carpet.
I wrote a post about the laptop, a long, chatty narrative ending in self-analysis. Then, when I was inserting a photograph, several paragraphs vanished. Clicking the Undo button thirty or forty times didn’t bring them back. By that time, I’d worked on the piece so long that it had become cloying, and rewriting would have sent me into a carb coma, so I scrapped it. For anyone who cares about my mental processes, here’s the nutshell version: The laptop broke about the same time my plot was falling apart, so instead of fixing either of them, I let them gather dust. When CP convinced me the plot was doable, I arranged for the laptop’s repair.
There. A zillion words on a topic of no import reduced to two sentences. I don’t enjoy watching my words disappear, but if they did so more often, the world would be spared a lot of foolishness. Or if not the world, a small but treasured portion of it.
I’d thought the laptop would be away for at least ten days, so the six-day turnaround time surprised me. So did the little extras I found upon opening the box–a new adapter and cord, and a palm pad. The old cord was so frayed and patched that I was reluctant to let it accompany the computer. And either the laptop never had a palm pad in the first place, or I thought the original was packaging and disposed of it.
According to the packing slip, I also received a new LCD bezel. When the mood strikes, I’ll look it up.
While the laptop was out of commission, I used the desktop, which was fine, but the straight-backed chair discouraged me from writing as much as I otherwise would have. I also felt that the discomfort somehow stifled my creativity.
When the laptop returns, I thought, I shall write like the wind.
The laptop has returned.
The bezel, it appears, has nothing to do with wind speed or acceleration.
Consequently, I must end this post and be on my way. Real life beckons.
Mrs. Hinderleitner, carrying a sign that reads Save the Siluro River, is picketing Molly’s place of business, and a righteously indignant Molly is headed outside to confront her.
I have to get there in time to grab a front-row seat.