Key to insanity — life without my computer

Might as well start with the good news.

The experts tell me they expect my organ transplant to be a success.

Kidney? Lungs? Heart?

So much more serious.

The extension of my body known as — my laptop.

That lifeline to the Internet, that link to my email, that toolbox for my writing.

My digital bodily extension ended up this week in the computer hospital for emergency surgery.

The crisis started with something so simple — a tall, refreshing glass of iced tea on a hot end-of-summer day.

Please, don’t think I did anything as dumb as spill the entire drink onto the laptop.

Give me some credit for more originality than that.

I raised the glass for thirst-quenching sip and watched without much concern as a large dollop of condensation dropped from the glass onto my laptop keyboard.


Why worry? I’ve done so much worse to this poor machine in the last few years. My electronic body extension has the dings and scratches to prove it.

I wiped up the offending drop of moisture and went to carry on with my day. My life.

Writing. Surfing.

Breathing and all other life functions that don’t happen without my computer.

Dear Reader, perhaps you can understand the attachment issues computer and I have?

And perhaps, you can understand the anxiety as I began to realize something had gone terribly wrong. As I came to realize a few of the keys were not working.

No “L.” No “O.” No period.

I didn’t know how many words use “L” and “O” until I didn’t have them anymore.

There’s no love in that situation.

I did get a good Old Lady chuckle when I pointed out to my frazzled self, “Missing a period means a whole different thing when you’re a 50-something writer than when you’re a 25-year-old single gal.”

I laugh-cried myself to the local computer hospital.

“Fried keyboard,” the expert told me.

Fried, as in things that are bad for you.

This one will put a ding in my wallet for about $150.

“Better than buying a whole new laptop,” I consoled myself as I thought about the most expensive sip of iced tea ever.

“H-h-h-o-w long will it t-t-take to fix?” I asked going into immediate separation anxiety at the thought of being without my computer.

“No need to go without,” he smiled knowing he was about to pull a rabbit out of hat, give a computer addict her fix.

Back came my computer along with an external keyboard to plug in while we wait for the new organ, er, keyboard to come in.

It’s like walking around with an artificial heart waiting for the real thing to show up.

It’s clunky, but it’s keeping me in business, online and connected to you.

Which means, hint, hint, Dear Reader, that I’m able to read your email where you share the dumb thing you did to mess up your computer.

It’ll make me feel so much better while I wait for the new organ, er, keyboard to arrive.

Computer and I are waiting at