I back up my computer, just like you’re supposed to, and agonize over the possibility of losing “everything” just like you.
“Lose everything?” Hmmm….what do we really have to lose? I have to giggle at this machine , this ridiculous false sense of meaningfulness, because, hello, I’m going to leave this insanely brilliant planet, with all it’s foibles, and this stylishly designed, beauty’s holdings will mean nothing to the next person who types on these keys, if there is another person who will do the typing.
Case in point, my father’s first lap top is in my office downstairs; somewhere down there among the myriad writings and other chachkes that I can’t part with, and I keep telling myself that someday, I’ll have the time and inclination to read every file and sheet of paper, and highlighted paperback books, and I’ll find that secret entry; “when it comes down to it, Susannah was my pride and joy.” I know it to be true, yet I want it in writing. Tangible. Tangibility, that’s a thing with us humans, right? Tangibility could be the root of our problem. This desire to own; to hold.
We’ve been sold down the river on this one.
There is a truth, one among many, that we are alone on this blue ball.
When we are walking hand in hand with someone we love there are absolute pristine moments of dishonesty; that we are not alone.
And we are, kind of, but not really.
This machine holds proof that I am not alone, those threads of e mail conversations, recordings, and photographs.
Losing everything here will tear down the theatrical set I’ve build for myself. Without this stuff it’ll be awfully quiet.