R.I.P. My Computer

Blog updates have become few and far between. There is good reason for the scarcity of the literary ideas being published in this medium. My computer decided to die. Two weeks out of its warranty, my hard drive decided to take a metaphorical leap off a tall building with its prescribed destination being the hard pavement below it. I have much of my data backed up, but I'm sure I've lost quite a bit. The brighter side of this is that I'm not exactly sure what I've lost and I don't even particularly care. I'm loathe to buy a new computer. I have access to my roommate's when he isn't using it so I'm not completely devoid of a digital presence. I find that this restricted access is not only sufficient but I find myself extremely amenable to my current lack of a computer.

Every once in a while, I do actually walk around and think that I could use a computer at the moment to quell some boredom. To my pleasant surprise, these are the moments of spare time in which I decide to do something much more productive than surf the internet. I wasn't even spending an inordinate amount of time on my computer when it worked, but now that it's gone, I'm spending even less and I don't miss it. Instead, I'll pick up a book and read even more often than I did before. I'll solve some puzzles, be they crossword or logic. I'll work on an actual puzzle. I'll go sit at the pool and swim laps in the sun. My current favorite though is punishing my body at the gym with my workout buddies/roommate Joe and surrogate personal trainer Joey. (In answer to your question: yes, the names get confusing.) The latter promises to find some way of motivating me through pissing me off with his trash talk, but he has yet to do it without me laughing instead. What can I say? I can't take anything a Ginger says seriously.

I've come to the conclusion that computers sap the life out of life. That being said though, I think I'm going to make a concerted effort to transfer the writings that make it into my numerous composition notebooks floating around my apartment into Joe's computer and subsequently onto this blog more often. If not for any of you reading this, then for myself when my notebooks die as unexpectedly as my hard drive. Don't laugh, it's happened before. Ask the one with a couple of chapters of Memoria in it that looks like a blue and white Rorschach test from having a Jameson bottle spilled on it.