It wasn’t until my almost-new computer broke down that I realised how much I personify my machines. My Kindle Fire stepped into the breach very nicely. She’s a girly little thing, bright and pretty, who will only respond to the lightest touch. Poke her too hard and she goes into meltdown. She is handling my email quite well, but she does have her limitations. After all, she is only a tablet and can’t quite compete with the big guys.
Sadly, I watched them take my six-month-old computer away. A nice man handled him gently, putting him into a case lined with foam, but I still felt bad. He had tried his best, but I think he was sick right from the start. Over the last few days he had only managed to boot up occasionally, most of the time he was too weak to even light up my monitor. When I turned him on he made a sound very much like a human moan. He was obviously in pain, and every time I pushed the on-button I was making it worse. The diagnosis is bad. A faulty motherboard, the very heart of the machine, and they will probably have to totally wipe his memory. The computer equivalent of death.
Desperate to get some writing done, I rescued my old computer from the shed. He booted up first time with a very audible sigh. ‘Not good enough for you, was I? Too old and too slow, so I got put in a box and left to rot. But now you need me again you expect me to go straight back to work.’ I had to apologise, otherwise he would probably have shut down out of pique.
My main computer is always male. The big machines scare me a little, and I would never admit to being scared of a woman. Besides, my new computer is obviously male, a beautiful, glistening black with hard lines and a look of absolute power. I can’t wait to get him back. He may not remember anything I downloaded, but I’m sure he’ll still remember me.