While my mac was away from home for a bit of R&R I felt utterly bereft. Every time I passed the empty desk there was a tiny jolt. Fine, I said to myself, so you can’t go online to blog but you could prepare a blog post or catch up on emails. For a moment I was quite serious about that, eagerly making for the computer corner, until I realised that, no, I can’t do that either. I use the mac for writing, researching and blogging, ipads have small keyboards, they’re of no use to me for ‘proper’ writing.
There was definitely something missing to which I have become seriously addicted. How do people who say they have no need of a computer manage to live with themselves?
After an absence of a day and a half mac’s R&R was over and I could fetch him (him?) home. Mike the macman explained that all was well again and that he’d added an extra 2Gb of RAM to the measly 1Gb available on such old (old? OLD?) desktop computers and that that would speed it up a bit and that he’d sorted out a lot of inconsistency on the hard disk. I felt exactly as I do at the Vet’s when I pick up Millie after a minor op. I embraced my mac as I embrace Millie and put him on the back seat. Millie only gets to ride in the boot (of the hatchback - last time I mentioned that Millie rides in the boot somebody threw up their (blogging)-hands in horror at the very idea of such cruel incarceration).
But here comes the contrary bit: once I’d carried the mac upstairs to my study and set him up on his desk, I reconnected everything, checked that all was in working order and promptly ignored him for the rest of the day.
A bit like a man; it’s nice to know they’re around to use anytime you need them.