To the iBook G4 On Which I Type This Post (Yes, I'm Talking to You, Buster): This is absurdity. One week ago you were on life support. I couldn't type for two seconds without you doing your little "I've got a logic board and it's about to crap out on you" dance. Everyone said the end was near. I backed up and prayed for a quick and painless death.
I took you to Chicago. You were an ungrateful bastard, perhaps holding against me that I let them do that weird swab test on you at security, or maybe you didn't like being locked to a chair in a strange hotel room. I can't pretend to know your heart, iBook G4 Whose Applecare Just Conveniently Expired.
So now we're back in the balmy double digits of NYC and you are TOTALLY ALL BETTER? How does this happen? Is this one of those Natural Cures THEY Don't Want You To Know About by Kevin Trudeau? Or are you just biding your time, hoping I don't back up, perhaps after I've, say, just completed my will or something equally important? (Just in case: My 13" TV with VCR attached goes to Sallie Mae, because you're probably going to repossess it anyway, vultures.) I don't trust you. This whole "everything's fine, what logic board problem, what crazy flickering screen, what last gasp of life, what death rattle???" game is so transparent.
Dear, struggling, paranoid-schizophrenic, rickety ol' iBook G4, throw me a bone. Stop closing me out! I may not be able to fix you, but maybe, just maybe, you can fix yourself. (PS CAN YOU? DID YOU? FIX YOURSELF? BECAUSE I REALLY HOPE SO PLEASE DON'T START THAT BULLSHIT FLICKERING THING AGAIN.)
Hopelessly devoted (still!), Melissa
Previously: An Open Letter to My Gasping-For-Life iBook