I have bought a new laptop. Windows 8. Oh god. I can't figure out how to do anything with the damned machine. I am typing this on my old, clunky, prone to overheating and liable to do reallly weird things but totally comprehensible laptop.
I know. Now you're saying, "But you should have gotten a Mac!" Shut up. No, really. Just shut the fuck up. I cannot cope with you Mac people right now. I have a book manuscript due at the end of December. Clearly the only way I'll meet this deadline is by chucking the horrible new laptop under the bed and hoping the cat pees on it. Yes, yes, I'm sure my life would have been infinitely better had I opted for the road less traveled. But two roads diverged in a yellow wood and I, I took the pc one.
Was it this way with typewriters? I don't think so. I don't think my mom's generation had to cope with constantly having to learn an entirely new way of typing/visualizing/thinking/conceptualizing/communicating every other year or so. Geez louise. I am trying to be flexible and up-to-date and open to new possibilities. Really. But you know, honestly, all I want to do is to be able to check my email and write my book and put together lectures with some groovy illustrations and keep up with my nieces on Facebook. I don't need to be able to program a nuclear holocaust or plan a financial meltdown of the western world or record a Grammy-winning music video. I don't even need to Skype my sons. The phone works. I can hear them rolling their eyes perfectly well, thank you.
I don't want to be that old lady who talks about the ice box and moans about not being able to find anyone to service her hi-fi. But somehow I do believe it's inevitable.
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