Yesterday, my computer crashed three times. It just shut the hell down, once when I was in the middle of writing a message to someone on Scribophile (a virtual water fountain for writers and would-be writers).I am sure some folks would see the solution to this problem right off. “Darryl” they would say, “Just go buy a new one.” What they do not realize is that I am on a fixed income. I like that it is called ‘fixed’ when, in reality, it doesn’t fix a damn thing. In fact, the more ‘fixed’ my income becomes, the more ‘broke’ I become.
Back to the story. I cannot completely blame my computer, because it is getting old. In computer years, which is like dog years cubed, it was here when the oldest Sequoia tree was a sapling. (Do you get my metaphor – if that is what it is – about computer ages?) Recently, one of the CTRL keys fell off and I cannot figure out how to get it back on. I am not at a complete loss with that happening because this computer (according to the salesman who sold it to me) is extra special because it has two CTRL keys. I guess, realistically speaking, I have only lost half of my control over this computer and the bonafide crap I produce on it under the guise of fiction.
The computer is also missing the cover over the hard drive which
is on the bottom so I do not have to be reminded that I lost the cover unless I pick up the computer and feel the hard drive. Then, the first thing that comes to mind is guilt. I am slowly crippling this old friend. It is a bit like cutting off one hind leg of a pet pig so you can have some ham for dinner and still have your pet pig. Sort of. We are not here for Metaphors and Similes – those two Greek cities can go elsewhere to battle.Anyway, I am slowly getting to the subject of this post. That is to say, I am getting tired of technology and I am about to rebel against it and go back to my ‘old school’ ways. That is what I think, as I drink my coffee made in my Nespresso coffee brewing machine. Then, I remember the day when my dad first used an old A Model John Deere to plow our cotton. He was amazed. Up until that day, he had to use a team of mules, and with my dad’s disability (one lung had been deflated and destroyed during a debauched surgery), using those mules was pretty damn hard on him. It took his several days to plow 16 acres of cotton. I remember the first day he plowed with that tractor and how he just kept going on about how he could plow a field in a few hours when, prior to that tractor, it took him a couple of days.