first written in January, supposedly to be published on Substack, but ultimately left to rot, like so many things written to be published on Substack for the past two years, leading to eventually actually writing things not meant to be published on Substack, leading to this blog, leading to publishing this, here, to maybe be published in some way someday on Substack, once I feel less itsy about publishing on Substack. This is Part Un
I've been thinking about writing a book. Thinking of calling it "DE-CONDITIONED — [insert equal-parts-sincere-and-self-mocking-self-help-y subtitle here]." Idk maybe not though lol
I'm writing this on a semi-brand-new MacBook Air. It arrived yesterday (jan 13) at two forty-three in the afternoon, and when Kiryll and I unpacked it, it caught the snow-reflected light coming in through the kitchen window — the very same that's perfectly lit many a food scene on the table over the years — and we saw its True Color. It is blue.
I thought I'd purchased a Macbook so dark blue as to be nearly black. But this was blue-blue. 'Midnight' = blue-blue, Apple, fuck, really??
When I arrived on Substack almost exactly three years ago, about three or so posts in, my computer died. It continued to be dead for a few days, I think (I can't know for sure because I didn't even try turning it back on for those few days after it refused for several hours), which seems like a fun jab at the resurrection myth, but I digress. This old Surface Laptop was there for me throughout the hardest years with my son, it was there when I tried starting all kinds of businesses, it was there for my various artistic awakenings, it was there when I discovered Human Design, it was there, before me, or behind me in my backpack, always around somehow; while the realization that writing has always been my best outlet — that I simply never took it seriously — gradually sunk in with every walk I took to the city to sit down and type until the battery gave out. Sometimes it seems like my son has more empathy for inanimate objects than he does for living things. Once, he spied a pack of tea on the floor beside the coffee table and scolded me for leaving it there "all alone" after it had fallen from its place with the other packages on the window sill. Today I wonder whether our smiling down at his seeming over-identification with these objects is actually the less-aware way to be in relationship with everyday objects. Liam is honest about his feelings towards these things. We purport to hold no such emotion for the unalive, but when once Liam bumped into me while I was holding my favorite cup and it fell, gaining a crack that would render it incapable of holding cappuccinos henceforth, I was devastated for a solid five minutes, with no space in my heart for his sincere apologies.
When the MacBook entered my space and demanded I replace my hardy Surface (with a lying-ass metallic blue surface on top, sheesh), my system clenched up and fired projectile after projectile onto its innocent exterior. I spent the afternoon distraught and clueless about my sudden and violent rejection of a perfectly fine piece of hardware.
the piece ends there. I do not recall where this was supposed to go. I am publishing anyway because i am sick of burying everything I write because I seem to run out of energy for my thoughts at the wrong moments and then self-flagellate myself out of continuing imperfectly. the long and short of the story is that I went back and forth on keeping the computer for a week or so, thinking and chatting with people and robots about the many reasons it felt wrong (I hadn't truly chosen it myself, I surmised) and how I felt wrong for feeling wrong about a "perfectly fine piece of hardware." Then I started just using it. It felt good, which annoyed me. At some point I explained my conflicting feelings to my kid, who pointed out that this computer was in my hands now, it was working and it felt good to spend time on, it was already paid for; maybe it wasn't perfect (not entirely new, not enough disk space, allegedly) but it was here and wasn't that all that mattered?
I could find no flaw in his argument, and neither could any of the other grown-ups around, either. McMac stayed; it is beloved in its entirety by me and everyone else. The End
Revised April 17, 2026.