The warning signs were all there – I’ve seen enough episodes of Casualty to know what’s going to happen. If you’re dicking about, someone, at some point, is going to fall through a conservatory/get hit by some cars/otherwise get fooked up.
There I was, dicking about with files I shouldn’t have been dicking about with on this very laptop. I was trying to do something, and doing something required… well, dicking about. Did I mention I was dicking about?
Safe to say, the wrong thing was moved, the even wronger thing was replaced and the wrongest thing was deleted. One restart later and this – my workhorse, my rock – was dead. Flatlined. DOA. An ex-laptop. Shuffled off this mortal (computer) coil.
But why dial 999 when you can perform surgery at home? That’s something I’ve always lived by. Well, no – that’s a lie. I’ve not always lived by it at all. In fact, nobody should live by that philosophy as it’s stupid.
Oh wait – it was a hasty metaphor for the ‘surgery’ I was to perform on my cadaver of a lappy. The hands were washed (“grounded”). The surgical tools removed from their sterilising chamber (“found my toolkit”). Theatre was in session.
And might I say, I’m damn good at this stuff. Everything electrical I’ve tried to fix in my life has ended up fixed. Everything I’ve tried to upgrade or otherwise augment has worked.
Well, aside from that one pad that just wouldn’t stay fixed, but shut up. It was a tosser that deserved to die (“be sold on eBay”) anyway.
It’s had me thinking I might just start breaking things on purpose so I have to sit around tinkering and fixing them.
Though that would be really fricking stupid, so I probably won’t.
Anyway, the computer lives again. Even if it is some kind of unholy zombieputer held together with voodoo and hope. LIVE! LIIIIIIVE!
worthless prattle makes the world go round 