An Apple a day

Because of a recent spill all over my laptop keyboard, I am temporarily without a computer and moments away from being committed.

Since that horrible night when I basically poured balsamic vinegar on the keyboard, I haven’t been the same.

I feel like the wounded party of a broken relationship. I recount all of my actions leading up to the bitter end.

I vent to my friends and loved ones, seeking advice on how to get my significant
other back.

I call hotlines hoping some operator will have the answers.

I take long, thoughtful strolls through parks and down busy streets as Simon and Garfunkel sing softly in the background. 

What can I say? I lost one of the most important things in my life. I’m a train wreck.

Before I introduced the motherboard of my computer to a liquid poison otherwise known as salad dressing, I checked my email religiously, lived for instant messaging with my friends and couldn’t fall asleep unless my “sleep” playlist was flowing out of my speakers from my iTunes library.

Writing this column was tough without the convenience of Microsoft Word. I’m on the “An Apple a day” diet, mooching off friends, bosses and family members.  

My sister Alex, an incoming IU freshman, pointed out that a few years ago, I didn’t even have a laptop. A few years ago I was independent – not enslaved by my technological devices.

In all honesty, there is nothing that a laptop provides that is crucial to the human existence. But, in this technologically dependent era, it’s a vital addition to social, professional and personal lives.

I feel cut off from a part of the world I haven’t taken a break from since I created my Facebook account.

I find it ironic that I can feel so unnatural without the comfort of having such an artificial possession.

I am willing to do anything it takes to get back in action, and those smarties at the Apple Store know this. That’s why they get away with milking me for all I’m worth.

It goes like this: I pay the Apple Store more than half of what I would have spent on a brand new computer; they will fix my laptop and eventually the cycle repeats itself.

The system is pathetic, excessive and pure genius. The people at Apple probably love it when idiots like me are careless with their gadgets.

It’s not like I know how to dissect my computer and fix it myself. I need their help. I’m desperate.

I view this incident (and my reaction to it) as a turning point.

Sure, I have learned to keep salad dressing and laptops separate. But what I am currently learning, without my trusty laptop, is how to deal with life after losing something valuable.

Because, according to every reasonable person I’ve spoken to, screaming, crying and protesting the price of repairs at the Apple Store isn’t a productive way to express grief.