Letting go is never easy. Love doesn't come along every day; so when we love someone, but realize that it's time to move on, the wrench can be terrible. I have had to make that break this week. Though I know my heart will heal, I also know it will take time.
Oh... you thought this was about a marriage or love affair? Well... it is... but relationship is fine. It's my computer I'm having to let go.
We've been together for over 11 years. Started with Windows 95... updated to Windows 98... then Windows 98 SE. When Putie and I met he had a mere 48 MB RAM. *GIGGLE* I know! I have portable flash chips with more RAM than that. The cheap Mp3 players have more memory. Of course, Putie started showing his size limitations quite a while ago, and we upgraded to the maximum capacity for him... which was a puny 64 MB. Still silly by current standards. But I will have you know that he runs large programs like Paint Shop Pro and Dreamweaver without a twitch.
In fact, the breakup has been delayed. Ahmed, who finds this whole attachment hysterical, bought me a brand new Dell for the Holidays. Black, sleek, a full GIG of RAM, all the bells and whistles.
But a funny thing happened on the way to the upgrade...
The shiny new whippersnapper kept uloading it's DVD drive, refusing to recognize its modem, and locking up on reboot. Though it looked nicer on the desk, it just wasn't working. We are waiting til after the New Year to contact the seller and see if we can swap this one for another, working computer. Good thing I didn't name him yet (though Ahmed suggested Fritz, since it had a certain ironic truth).
Funny thing is... after banging on him and smacking him around as I removed him from the desk... after pulling his plug and leaving him sitting, dusty and forlorn, in the corner... Putie still came through. I reconnected his cables, wiped him down, hit the power button, and he booted up just as cleanly and smoothly as he did all those years ago when I took him out of the box. His dingy tan casing looks absurd alongside the crisp, flat panel monitor in matte black. His bulky box seems out of place where only recently a sleek tower nestled into the spot as though designed for it.
Yet the-computer-temporarily-called-Fritz was all show. Out of memory, scratched, scuffed, and working twice as hard to get half the work done, Putie still pulls his wagon up the hill. He's been upgraded til he's barely recognizable. His operating system is badly outdated. He's looking the worse for wear.
It occurs to me, though, that I could say the same of myself.
My original plan was to resell Putie or give him to one of the children in the family, but I can't do that now. He's been good to me, and I owe him too much. I can't keep him running the way he has been. It would be cruel, not to mention impractical. But I will keep him. He will retire to a quiet corner of the bedroom where we will spend time together when I need the solitude and support of old friendship. I may not write my novel on Putie, but I think he has some poetry left in him. We'll be together til the circuits fry. As I glance over at him, even as I type this, I feel the "rightness" of it. It's the least I could do.
Fritz will go back. He will be replaced by another shiny new unit. But Putie will always be with me. He's banged up, but he's in good shape for the shape he's in. Some relationships really do last forever.
