Rigor mortis has set in for my Macbook. It's dead. Finite. Expired. Passed on. Fallen. Perished. Asleep. Pushing up daisies. Six feet under. Kaput. Slain. Pick your euphemism--it's the only thing that amuses me about this situation. Every single time I begin to think there is nothing on there that I'll miss, I realize I'm wrong and it gives me a start.
Forever gone will be the patterns I've paid for and had sent to me in a PDF format and just when I was considering finally taking on Romi's spiffy hat. There are photos that were there that I'd been meaning to back up, but never got around to doing.
The geniuses wanted $750 to send it out, and that was without a repair estimate. Since a brand new Macbook starts at $150 more, it makes zero sense to send it out for repair when for a little bit more, I can get the latest and greatest.
I meant to get around to those photos and my music files. It's not like I don't have an external drive with which to back it all up, it's just that I didn't get off my lazy bum and take all of ten minutes to get the job done.
Who's sorry now? Me. Sniff. Pass the tissues, please.
Photo: Google Images of a Key West Cemetery