It was strange, and I admit, I was a little ashamed of how I reacted...of how I felt.
I sat on a stool with my elbows on a white bar table. There were shiny glimmering things around me, but nothing interested me. I never needed the next thing. I only wanted that thing in the back of this store to breathe for me again. I hated that I cared so much about a thing, an object.
The man in the blue shirt with the white fruit logo stood next to me.
"I'm sorry," he said. "It can't work. We can take it in to get it repaired for about $750, more or less, depending on the damage. Or maybe you want to buy a new one...Or, geez, I mean, no pressure. You don't have to buy one now."
My eyes were shaking. It felt like one of those scenes in a movie where the main character in the waiting room finds out his friend didn't survive the accident. I came back from Korea with $1.91 in my pocket feeling rich. Now I didn't feel anything. I think the man standing at the Genius Bar could tell I wasn't taking the news well.
What's ironic is the accident. It was a beer. It got inside, got it wet (that's what she said? Never too sad for one of those...) and then it corroded the shit out of everything.
My writing medium? Gone.
My data? Gone.
My writing? Gone.
I packed my useless laptop into my blue backpack and started walking...but I couldn't go home. I felt sick. Dizzy. Shaky. How much were type writers? Why did I buy a mattress? Why did I buy a dresser? Why did I buy shower curtains? I didn't need things. Why didn't I back up anything? Why am I such an idiot? What did I expect? Dammit, Jade.
I hadn't realized it until I got there, but my legs had taken me to the library. I walked to the information desk and asked about computer usage. I needed to write. I needed to come here and apologize for the many days I haven't written. I needed a keyboard under my fingers. I was going into withdrawals, and I needed a hit. Bad.
Two 60 minute sessions per day. That's what library card owners are entitled to. I don't know what that amount of time seems to you, but when I can lose myself on the keyboard for 4-6 hours straight... It's a painful taste of a 14-course meal to me. It's like putting handcuffs on the bank robber that always got away, it's like plucking a flower from a meadow full of its family, It's like being superman who has to always wear kryptonite. It's like... how I feel right now: Nothing.
I have more time to write here, but I'm going to go add my delta miles to my account and look up how expensive or cheap type writers are... Maybe I'll browse through a few laptops as well...Although honestly, I just don't have the heart right now. Too soon.
It's silly how it works. I wanted to write about Korea. About my ex boyfriend calling me. About Syria. About how important Donald Trump is becoming because of how unimportant he is. About a loss accepted via landline. About jobs. About 9/11. About life. I wanted to write about how some of us worry about a new mascara, a stain on a shirt, a scratch on a car when we are all so damn healthy and lovely and beautiful. I wanted to write about that beautiful man in thecereal aisle. Things are just star stuff. My lap top is just star stuff. We are just star stuff.
For a while it might just be notebook and paper, friends. Please be patient (I feel hypocritical asking that because I'm hardly that at all about this entire situation).
I really wish Apple Care covered liquid damaged star stuff.
A sad girl who lost her best friend and doesn't want to think about it and no i'm not crying why would you think that?... Which can be translated in the big picture as "Star Stuff."