My computer is possessed. His name is Dashell, and perhaps he's acting out because his name is Dashell, and he probably thinks of himself as more of a Spike or a Bruno.
Our relationship has gotten rather rocky over the past year. He doesn't always turn on when commanded -- a fault I can, as a woman, understand, especially if he's been drinking a lot or it's been a stressful week at work. Dashell, however, is a computer, and unless he's been getting into the ancient bottle of Campari that is next to my nightstand, I don't think he should have any problems, um...functioning.
The main problem, however, is the "silent treatment." Dashell has been intermittently choosing to be mute for the past year and a half. Yes, I know there is a way to fix this, but I refuse to spend any more money on this damn thing than I absolutely must, and it suits me better to think that this is a personal grudge that an anthropomorphic laptop is expressing. The sound will work fine for hours, even days -- I think in January, we even had an entire week where I could listen to iTunes and watch TV and movies and be able to hear everything -- but, invariably, I will piss Dashell off. Perhaps I haven't been home enough nights and he's feeling neglected. Perhaps he overheard me discussing with my roommate that I'd much rather have a Mac. Perhaps he just couldn't bear to listen to Mad Rad's slimy lyrics anymore. Whatever it may be, he will decide that it's time to take away my audio privileges.
But he doesn't do this by just becoming silent. No -- because then I might not notice unless I am actively listening to something at the time, and I really need to be well aware that I have pissed him off. So he starts growling. It's like this, but scratchier.
It gives me nightmares. And it will continue doing this long after I've slammed the lid shut and hidden the damn thing under my bed. Sometimes, it will last a few minutes, and then Dashell will fall ominously silent. Sometimes, it will last for hours. Once while I was out of town and hadn't powered him off -- which I imagine is why he got upset -- he went on my days. My poor roommates couldn't figure out what the sound was or where it was coming from. They thought they were going to die at the hands of some angry spirit.
But today, Dashell seems to really have it out for me. On a cold, snowy Saturday morning in Manhattan, I woke up and decided to do some work. Dashell is not normally used before sunset. He is nocturnal. Occasionally, on weekends, he'll allow to be used in the late afternoon, but eleven in the morning is, apparently, completely unacceptable, and he responded with physical violence.
I was listening to some Morrissey and looking at job postings that I'm wholly unqualified for when Dashell decided ten minutes of hard labor was more than enough. He jumped out of my hands when I tried to move him from one spot on the bed to another and struck me violently on the leg. An hour later, it looked like this.
Yeah, and then started growling. He's still growling, the son of a bitch. I should have just slept in.
So now I'm going to shut him off for the day. Momma always says that computers aren't to be trusted. Books rarely let you down as much. Here's my selection for the day:
Happy unplugged Saturday.
-Roo
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