Usually, when my computer's battery has trickled to a drought and the screen goes a bright black what hurts your eyes, I plug it into a crusted-over, three prong socket and annihilate the power button with my thumb until the whirring picks up and everything is back, as if revealed form behind a curtain. It doesn't matter. But today, something was missing: My day was completely devoid of pain, sorrow, panic, bright blackness like the dead screen. A nagging feeling enveloped me, and I knew I should just charge the stupid thing, this little silver box that now holds my legacy at school, but there were only a few crackers left on the plate, and they looked lonely against the porcelain. (Then again, to me, crackers always look lonely.) Anyway, as soon as the omnipresent buzz of the motor dimmed and the screen faded away, the familiar catch in my chest and rushing in my head activated. I threw my hands onto the bed, tucked my chin into the folds of my tee, and panted fervently.
The power button seemed colder than usual, and then it took longer than usual to load the start screen. No rainbow wheel, no sliding blue bar along the top of the hinge; just an apple perching in the center of a gray mass. To my horror, after five minutes of processing, the desktop popped up through the center of the virtual nothingness, blank and iconless. The essay I'd worked tirelessly on all day had run away from home. Life as always, then; devastation when I'm left all alone in my pajamas on a Saturday, absolutely devoid.
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