My laptop connection to the Internets stopped working tonight; a greasy clog in the tubes. I wasn’t planning to use it much. My plan was to update my iTunes with it, rip a couple of CDs, while doing some writing with the desktop, then watch a movie and go to bed early-ish. But I couldn’t download my podcasts. To make a long story short, after almost an hour on the phone, a gentleman named Vivek at Linksys (Cisco), presumably in India, helped me fix it. For some reason, the router settings stopped working, and had to be changed. But it’s OK now.
What strikes me about the experience is how I feel about it now. I’m relieved, and sad; it troubles me that my laptop has had to go through this brief but bitter sickness. Here is something I’ve been trying to put my finger on for quite a while: I am emotionally connected to the inanimate objects that populate my little life. I derive a consolation from their utility, and a sentimental sustenance from many of them. The laptop was a gift from my Mom & Dad. But I was just as overwhelmed by the near-death of this desktop late last year, and I bought it myself. So it isn’t just sentiment. It’s the more systemic fact that my possessions are part of my personal landscape.
OK, so I have some serious psychic disentangling – detaching – to do, because it’s manifestly obvious that my computers don’t love me back. I’m not so sure about the dishwasher.