December 12, 2010


It is these that screw things up, always, and these are the ones that are the hardest to get right, not merely in writing, but in pretty much everything. Not only has the substitution of my Apple Mac (now in semi-retirement, and hell, if there is one system on the planet that deserves some kind, any kind of retirement, it is this one, the G4 Dual 450 Mhz. So say my friends. So say we all.) opened up space at my workplace, it has also somehow started a serious re-arranging of pretty much everything. From work accessories to work books to work software to books. In other words, it was the stone thrown into the pond, and the ripples are still moving outward.

It is weird how much of your life is on a computer system, stacked up, folded, laundered, dirty, memories, projects... and how long it takes to break in a new system. It is not the major software packages. Those are easy. It's the little things. The email back-ups. The data redistribution. The fonts. Oh god, the fonts. Having worked on so many things as I have, the fonts are the hardest. Memo to self: While you are doing new things, make back-ups of fonts used... and group them.

I am still in the process of finding the appropriate fonts to replace the PS versions on the Mac. Guh. I know. This should be a proper sentence, like "the work and the thought that has to go into replacing..."

But no. It's just "Guh".

Printer and scanner survived the transfer, and I have a new TFT monitor (well, technically, it is not mine, it never will be, just like the PC, but I am allowed to use it, so yay!) that shows me how poorly my old 21 inch screen has gotten in the past couple of years. The colours have become washed out, the images a bit (not much, but still..) blurry. And I am surprised at how much space it opens up on my desktop that has been dominated by two massive chunks of grey plastic for years.

Tomorrow I will be finally able to start to work (barring unforeseen catastrophes) properly, not just in fits and spurts that are interrupted by learning curves, looking at manuals to figure out what key shortcuts the PC uses, while my fingers just continue to stray to the keys I knew from my Mac, yearning for that old, comfortable relationship between man and machine.

Details. Details. Details

I am having flashbacks as of late, sifting through the parts of my life left behind, catalogued, ordered, silent, in files and documents that trigger memories. Details. They will fuck you up every time. As I said a few times before, I have perfect recall. For scenes. For dialogue. And the best I can do to not go insane is put walls around them and whistle nervously as I walk past them.

Things are moving behind that wall, and these things are dangerous, for the most part. I am often jealous of those who can forget. It is good to forget. It is human to forget.

Memories as perfect, as sharp as mine, they come with jagged edges, and holding onto them will cut deeply into you every single time they are in your hands. They make you bleed, and yet, the best you can do, that I can do, is to put them in storage, in cryo sleep and hope they don't wake up and growl and prowl in the middle of the night, through your mind and your soul.

Yes. I am jealous of those who can forget.

Details. That's what life really comes down to.

Details.Details. Details.