For a few days this week, I had to live without my laptop; relegating my work to pen and paper, and an occasional trip to the local library to check my email. It was a substantial effort to remain present and positive. I happily sketched my new ideas, my goals, and a few future posts, including the one you are reading now; exhausting two legal tablets and almost filling the banana leaf notebook that I normally use to jot down the ideas that come to me when I am sleeping. I thought I did pretty well, keeping the old chin up, as they say, until I heard the soothing voice of my most intimate observer tell me that I had fooled no one: I was lost without my electronic companion.
I neither slept sound nor ate properly during the absence of my laptop. I worried about her. I worried about losing all that she held in confidence for me: the play I started and finished on New Year’s Eve 2009; the play that I started last week; the galley of my first book; and pictures that could never be replaced. I could bear to lose many things, but I could not begin to imagine having to mourn for her.
I realized that she is not only the custodian of my life’s work, but she is my hiding place; the device that has kept me sufficiently distracted from addressing my unmet needs; until now. In her absence, I became more aware of the contributions to my surroundings and the fact that I was temporarily unable to share my observations with her. I wanted to tell her about the unspoken words between my lover and me; how I could feel the unburdened weight of his affection and how it lingers even when we are apart; that he and I are going on a journey and will return noticeably and happily changed.
My laptop is back! And now she knows. She knows that she is the welcomed and celebrated vessel by which my voice informs, encourages and garners an occasional laugh. She is revered and adored.
As am I…