Today, I can’t work properly. I feel disorientated. I’m doleful. Why? It’s because I don’t have my computer. I have a computer; but it’s not my computer. (In case you’re wondering, I’m writing this on the fly, on my iPad, which has something of me in it).
In that possessiveness is revealed – unexpectedly and powerfully – the close relationship between myself and my laptop: how, over the course of a year or two, I have configured the various settings, passwords, bookmarks, cloud storage, and apps to help me do my job. This configuration has quietly and almost without me noticing produced a particular way of working with my materials: in the parlance of our time, this is my workflow.
In retrospect, I should have thought about this before I blithely sent my own dear laptop off to get repaired. Perhaps I could have transferred my desktop and settings to this new temporary alien laptop (now sitting unused beside me)? But what they say about hindsight is right. If nothing else, it’s revealed to me just how intimately my mental and physical schema was closely bound to this one, particularly configured, piece of technology. It did, indeed, have a lot of me in it.
‘Sad Dog’ image via Wikimedia Commons.