I sacrificed my beloved laptop to tea and butter fingers. As is predictable, I have been bitten by the urge to write now. I am sure that the urge has nothing to do with the perverse lack of easily typeable devices at my disposal.
That laptop had served me long and well. It had become mini-me, holding my tax documents and many travel visa documentation, holding my code archives and sprawling manifests of fiction writing. It had faithfully held photos of family and friends, of loves and of travel, and many cute koalas. It had weathered my terrible decisions in my early days in this country, the often chaotic locales I ended up in during my grad school days, a rather pugnacious romantic situation, that quirky startup I was briefly at, coffee shops galore, flights aplenty (yes, even United), and aided me faithfully in multiple job searches, paper deadlines and endless nights of rapid fire editing to please my agent and editors.
I will buy a new laptop soon, as necessity dictates. However, I am still in mourning for my fallen comrade, which had survived multiple bids on its life. Poor thing certainly could have had an easier existence with another owner. What does it matter now? Tea sunk empires. What could a little laptop do against this mighty adversary?
Goodnight, goodbye, Godspeed, my little love.