An Ode to My Dying Laptop

Everyday, when I wake up in the morning to the sunlight gleaming on my face, I wonder how long my laptop’s battery will last before ultimately dying. I get to class and I begrudgingly open my 2020 13-inch Rose Gold MacBook Air — yes, I fell victim to aesthetics. As I am unwillingly propelled back into the academic world, I open my Notion Calendar and Google Chrome to at least physically lock in.

Soon after that, a distinctive swshhhhh starts to play. I turn from my left to my right (checking my surroundings), wondering if any of my peers mind my computer’s cry for help. My battery starts going from 100 percent to 90 to 80 and so on. The increments of 10 almost mock my inability to stop it. I have approximately three hours before I lose her cooperation.

A concerned peer might ask: “What about using it on the charger?”.

No.

I can’t do that. Trust me I tried, but the last time she died on me the battery replacement cost me $350. Therefore, I must take the walk of shame to my nearest outlet and plug her in. I can only watch in dismay as I ponder about what life will be like after her, sort of following my ex’s inner dialogue before he broke up with me. And just like he probably did, I weighed the pros and cons of sustaining my current relationship — with my laptop.

My laptop has been with me throughout the pandemic, highschool, and college applications. I think it's only fair to consider the history we have. I mean after all, she got me into Harvard and her presence alone earned me compliments throughout high school. And if I gaslight myself, she’s really not as bad as a Surface laptop.

For so long her support system was my support system, but now it seems like it's time to call it quits (command +shift + QQ). I didn’t know that on the day we met, I would be plagued by her restrictions to open more than three tabs at a time. While everyone else types away during class, I have to worry about her stove-like top. I just know that I deserve better than typing on keys as hot as the frying pan gets when I cook or hardware that sounds like the airplane engine that takes me back to my home state. All I have to say to her is, it’s not you, well it kind of is, but it’s mostly me. I can’t help it… she’s just no longer the Macbook I want.

Hate your laptop as much as I do? Maybe it’s time to pull the plug.