Don't It Always Seem To Go ....

No, they haven't paved paradise, but I think I simply must wax a bit poetic about my computer.

Yes, my computer.

My beloved "Emma" -- who tragically underwent, at my own hands, an illness of hair-tearing proportions over the weekend.

I acknowledge that this was entirely my fault.

For Emma remains a truly sturdy member of the CPU species -- I would call her the work-horse of my interface with my reading business, the Society, and a great deal of my social life -- but I think that term would be demeaning. So I will describe her instead as the perfect Girl-Scout of cyberdom -- on her honor, always trying to do her duty to god (in her case, I think that's me) and her country (this house), helping other people at all times . . . . she's loyal, faithful, true, hard-working, and yes, even kind, in her own 1 and 0 manner.

And I, in my arrogance (or who knows, maybe it was karma for that Commandments post), loaded her up with a new utility and, of course, did two or three other unusual things that I'd never done with her before and -- wham-bam thank-you ma'am! -- she became slow . . .
No, I mean sloooooooowwwwwww ..........................
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . .
. . . .

Like that slow.

So I did what seemed logical. Removed the program, rolled her back. Googled (very slowly) the problem. Nothing I did helped, or helped for very long. Emma remained cramped up, constipated, listless, and seemingly apathetic. (How callous I must seem -- imagine how she must have been feeling!)

After two days of fiddling, I decided I would have to bite the bullet and reformat. This is not a simple task for me -- I use an alarming variety of programs, and reformatting is a two-to-three day process, even when I have nothing else to attend to. I began preparations (very slowwwwwly backing up, retrieving passwords, etc.), and dread lay upon my heart.

I was about to wipe my gal's memory -- take her back to her original pristine, but unknowing, state. It was like starting the relationship all over again. She would no longer remember my preferences, anticipate my desires.

She would not even remember the day we first met. That just killed me.

It was here that Joni Mitchell started playing in my head, unbidden.

I spent another two days in this agonizing preparation. I hunted up software CDs and quickstart manuals long since gathering dust in the nooks and crannies of my office. I cheated on Emma, checking email on my partner's computer -- all while Emma churned away, still obeying my commands: "Back-up!", "Restart!", "Go Back to a Restore Point!" -- yes, she did it slowly, but dutifully, and to the best of her ability . . . . . (and to obey the Girl Scout law).

I am ashamed. I didn't even think about her feelings.

Then, this morning, preparations complete, a thought entered my head (who knows, maybe Emma finally got through to me): "Maybe I'll just try this one thing before I reformat. . . " and Shazam! Emma is back, smart and dapper, johhny-on-the-spot, and probably rolling her eyes at my human density.

It is amazing to me how quickly I can take things for granted. Like this fabulous entity that sits before me -- shining my own writing back into my face. Unlike some people, and like some others, I love computers in general -- I love the internet, email, access programming, outlook forms, html, and excel formulas. I love what they can do, and how they can be simultaneously mysterious/quirky and utterly ordered/logical.

I think one of the things I love about them is that, if something is going wrong with them, and I can't figure it out, I generally first assume that the problem is me. How often do I do that in my other relationships?

I think I'll be taking a little spiritual rectitude lesson from Emma tonight and practicing this concept more in my relationships with "organic" beings -- never ruling out the possibility of "operator error" (my own ) when I encounter a glitch.

What was surprising to me in this travail was that, when I considered that Emma might actually have a really serious dis-ease (Failed motherboard -- fried CPU -- No! Say it isn't So!), and I thought about the options (replace the mobo, buy a new computer, etc.), I found that I didn't want a new computer -- I wanted Emma -- my computer.

This realization comes hard upon the heels of the first class of our new Masters series, where Carruch talks about the "aliveness" and consciousness of everything -- atoms, molecules, cells, and organizing groups such as individuals, species, planets, solar systems. He says that the chair knows that it's a chair, and knows that you're sitting in it.

When I consider that I have named my computer, I recognize that I think of her as an entity -- a being.

A being that I work with every day -- and a being that I forget to greet in the morning, (Well, now that's going to stop.)

Tomorrow morning I will say "Good morning, sweet Emma. How did you sleep?"

Emma -- this blog post is for you. May you rest tonight in blissful computer dreams, like HAL, waiting to reawaken for another day of exploration in the realms of pure electric thought.

What is the computer equivalent of sending a dozen roses? Let me know, Okay Doll? And if any of you have figured this out e in blog-reader land, drop a helpful comment.

Signed,
Carol -- Back Online with a Vengeance, thanks to you-know-who.