There are three things I damage with regularity: cars, computers and my liver. I’ve tried to minimize the first problem by living in New York, where a car is not really necessary, and the last one I treat with antioxidants, vitamins and such.
The middle one is pesky. I haven’t had a brand-spanking-new computer since I went to college, and that one broke in about six months (it was also a PC, so fuck it). Since then, I’ve lived off a steady diet of office computers, girlfriends’ computers, friends’ computers and hand-me-ups from my brother. My last two laptops came straight up the genetic pipeline, first a MacBook, then a ThinkPad from Grantlesworth. They were both serviceable. The first one kept malfunctioning but was covered under an Apple warranty until it wasn’t, and was shown the door, and the second broke on and off until July when I really destroyed the thing by putting it in my checked luggage on my 15 1/2 hour trip to Hong Kong. That’s more like murder than anything else, so we’re best not to speak of it. Since then, I’ve been computer-less except at work, where my ample free time has been a nice complement to my non-computer-owning habits. But as a “writer,” this was a temporary fixture, and for my 30th birthday, someone who shall remain nicknamed NILS, KINS, NILES CRANE, THE CRANE, THE CREEZIE, etc. was kind enough to purchase me a brand new MacBook, which I am in the uncomfortable position of trying not to kill. Finally, a computer of my own that might actually last a while. It’s very strange, and I’ll adjust to it eventually, but to show you how kid-gloves I am with it right now, I’m typing this from work. Or maybe that’s because all my computer time at home is reserved for [deleted].*
* “Playing Scrabulous,” which a large percentage of work is reserved for, actually. (Mom, Scrabulous = Scrabble on Facebook. Facebook = nevermind, I’m sure you know by now, right?)