Friends, I have solemn news.

My. Macbook. *turns face away and sobs*

Wednesday, the trackpad decided to play peek-a-boo. The kind of I’m working now. PSYCHE! Nope. Still not working. Maybe… ha, tricked you again kind of peek-a-boo. And yesterday, my keyboard adopted the same disobedient behavior.

Ugh, teenagers. .  .

After doing the typical WebMD Googling for Macbooks, trying to ignorantly fix the problem myself as we all try to do (don’t lie), I ended on the phone with a garbled man from Apple who had me poking keys and sitting in awkward silence. We ended the call with an appointment that day at the Apple Store.

I packed up my baby, and we headed out.

I imagined myself walking into Apple with the disobedient and ungrateful to the love and warmth I provide it with DAILY overpriced laptop that is already giving me trouble.

The appointment confirmation email told me to find an Apple employee. Why do Apple employees dress like the rest of us? It’s like picking out the one ant that’s brown, not black.

One guy directed me to a different guy who directed me to a table. But then he realized I came to have my laptop fixed, so he directed me to a different table. I was spinning around and dodging strollers with babies and stepping passed customer’s flip-flops, until I was settled onto a black stool at a table with other awkward-looking Apple customers. They had their loved-but-rejected laptops set up in front of them.

I turned to a girl and asked, “what are ya in for?” But she didn’t hear me.

After about fifteen minutes, a man with a tablet approached the table and called for “Rebekah.” I fumbled and explained, and he swiped his finger back and forth on the trackpad. The curser moved on the screen, slightly. Then he opened a notebook file and typed FDSFDSFDSFDSDFFDS. It stalled, like a dog performing it’s well-rehearsed trick.

He mumbled, “wow…”

I smiled and sat back. Honestly, my greatest fear would’ve been to arrive at the Apple store and for the darn Macbook to work perfectly. Then to have the man glance at the perfect laptop, then glance at me, and say “so…what is the problem?”

At this point, I wanted my laptop to be broken. 100% this-is-covered-by-warranty, broken.

I even added that my laptop was getting hot as well. To which, the man shook his head and scoffed, “man…” I was very pleased.

Good, bad laptop.

He took the Macbook back with him and returned a little while later. The problem wasn’t in the battery as he expected, nor was it liquid damage. He said it was the entire top that would have to be replaced. He would have to send it in. I would get it in maybe four days, but there is the holiday this weekend that may cause delay. He didn’t make any promises.

Horror. There must have been a complete white wash of horror across my face.

He asked me if this would be a problem.

I looked toward my mother, as if to ask: Mommy you’re the wisest among all creatures. Can YOU fix my broken laptop quicker?

I eventually shrugged and told the man I needed the laptop fixed. He tap-tapped on his iPad and had me sign a legal document. I’ll get an email before receiving a call that I can pick up my laptop again.

I left my baby at the store.

How do they distinguish it from the rest of identical silver laptops in that mysterious back room? Did they throw it carelessly into a bin of other misbehaving Macbooks? Do they stack them on top of each other and use colorful post-its that say Rebekah or Tom?

If my laptop gets a post-it, I hope it’s green.

All that to say, friends, is that I won’t be able to blog until the laptop returns. My little brother is kindly letting me use his computer to write this post, but it is summer, and he’s itching to get back to his game creating.

I don’t know what I’m going to do.

As we drove home yesterday, I began to brainstorm what today’s post would be. I will write it when I get home, I thought. Then it hit me.

No laptop. No writing tonight.

“Oh my gosh,” I wailed, grabbing my mom’s arm. “I’M HAVING WITHRAWAAAALLLSSS.”

Don’t forget about me, Internet Friends! Some of you may be familiar with my Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule. Have no fear. I WILL BE BACK next Friday!

You are, however, allowed to miss me.

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