Primary Master Hard Disk Fail

Perrine's Literature, the textbook for my recently completed Composition and Rhetoric II course, defines poetry at one point as "a kind of language that says more and says it more intensely than does ordinary language."

The are times when the economy and specificity of technical jargon approaches poetry; five impassive words glowing faintly in white on a black screen constitute an impressive understatement. I found myself reading them over and over three months ago, when the hard disk drive of the obsolete, patchwork amalgam of computer parts that hunches under my desk lost its will to live. There was no warning for this.

I was maddened by the thing at the time, maddened to the point of dropping all other tasks and wasting hours booting the computer in an attempt to get it to wake up. I did this despite the fact that there was no important information for school trapped on the computer, and other computers were available to me to do school work. I was angered by the sheer lightning-out-of-the-blue-sky randomness of it, angry enough that I obsessively focused on it to my detriment. Eventually I had to move on to more pressing things, but I was bitter indeed.

I kept playing with the drive over the next few weeks; with practice I managed to coax it back to life briefly, and it willed me the data in its trust, so there are no longer any hard feelings. May it rest in peace.

But I still have no computer. And the Chattahoochee Technical College library is closed for the break between quarters. So to write these posts, I pretty much have two choices: The Cobb County Public Library System web browsing computers, or my mother's. The public library computers disconnect you every thirty minutes, and the librarians will get angry if they notice you've been on one too long. This is just a minor annoyance, but I let it bother me more than it should. Right now I am at my mother's place, The Accursed Schoolhouse A whole lot has been going on here lately; but I am going to have to start to tell you about it tomorrow because it is now ten thirty post meridiem and I need to go home and get into bed so I can get up tomorrow at five thirty ante meridiem and go to work.

Wake rested. I will be back tomorrow.

 
Included @ 7/08/2004 10:34:00 PM; And so on, etcetera, etcetera.

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