I need to exorcise the technology demons in my house. Because everything is breaking.
It started several months ago, the issue with my laptop, but in the last two weeks, my computer has gone entirely bananas. I have a Macbook Air as my primary office computer and the bulk of my work is on that machine. And it worked fine for several years, until the trackpad on the computer started to over-react to everything. I’d tap my finger on the trackpad and every email in my inbox would open, files would delete themselves, and browser windows threw themselves against the side of the glass. Crazy shit.
“Why are you so sensitive?!” I yelled at the computer.
“I don’t knooooooooooooow!!” It sobbed in return.
I did a lot of Google searches, and my computer wasn’t the only one feeling super fragile and sensitive. It was not alone. (And if your computer is going berserk, you are not alone.) But last week, while traveling, the computer refused to click on any damn thing while simultaneously clicking on every damn thing, it wouldn’t connect to wifi, and it bit me when I opened it. (Sharp teeth on that little sucker.) Because I do not work in a formal office but instead house my business entirely in a computer, I had to make the rotten decision to replace my computer.
Fine. That problem is solved, albeit in the most expensive and irritating way possible. Then last night my FitBit decided to go rogue on me, in the middle of an intensely competitive FitBit challenge, rendering it useless. This morning, my Dexcom receiver did that weird “BEEEEEEEEEP!” thing where static electricity or something courses through it and it restarts on its own. En route to a doctor’s appointment at the crack of dawn this morning, the GPS in my car took me to somewhere that was not the doctor’s office but instead a supermarket (so I bought apples).
Everything with a battery or a digital footprint is breaking. I’m afraid. And then I realized that the way I receive my insulin is via an insulin pump, powered by a battery, chock full o’ breakable technology. A cold panic washed over me as I worried the tech demons were contagious.
“Shhhhhhh … you’re okay. You’re my friend,” I said to my insulin pump, as I held it in the palm of my hand like a fuzzy hamster. “Be good. No disassemble. Keep working,” I murmured to it, stroking it gently with one fingertip.