computers are made of time

I went to visit the black screen after lunch, to see whether it was all dead or only mostly dead.

It had something stuck in its booting-up craw, so stuck it didn’t want to boot in any of the ease-it-on ways I know to tell it to try.

Perplexed, I decided to see whether getting it to list what it was doing while it started would give me a clue. I thought it would flick each item on-screen as it quickly ticked, or retried, each item on its starting to-do list, but it didn’t.

It smoothly booted as if it had never had a fuss.

Fine. Not that I trust its healing! But I would let it finish going through its beginning routines. It could smooth itself down, get bits back where it wanted them, unflustered. No program updates at the moment, thank you, but an antivirus scan would be okay. Particularly since the utility’s screen didn’t offer a clean way to stop said scan-!

Annnnd backing up all the files, while we wait on the scan, would be wise. She didn’t remember when her last one had happened anyway.

Five and a half hours after I sat down, I went home, scan still scanning. My relationship grooves feel well-lubricated after a whole afternoon’s free flow of chat,

but I also remember why I used to keep one working computer next to any broken one. It’s handy for diversion—or work!—while keeping a sliver of an eye on what the puny one is spending all that time on.

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