Gggggrrrrrr! I was feeling really good about life yesterday: I seemed to have a handle on all the things I'd need (new character shoes, a proper backless dance bra, etc.) for "Aida," and begun setting some money aside. I was feeling as though all my hardwork was paying off, that when the show ended and work ended and I had a week "off," and could start rearranging, decluttering, and packing up for school, I'd have enough money to buy the things I needed and still have some in the bank for you know, food. Nothing extravagant did I plan to buy. The textbooks I'd need. A daily planner (yes, I still use one of those paper ones. I live out of it) a mirror for my bedroom, a new pair of jazz pants. Maybe even some new pens.
I remembered the last expense I was worried about: the trackpad on my beloved MacBook Pro has been acting funky. I didn't want to make it worse, so I carefully tucked it inside its TWO (read that again, folks: TWO. T-w-o. 1 +1. Mulptiple) neoprene cases and set it aside until I had made enough money to be sure I could cover the cost to repair. Of course my aunt had generously bought me my laptop as a graduation/going away/birthday present the summer before I started college and with it she got the maximum warranty. . . which has naturally, at this point, expired.
So yesterday when I pulled out my laptop from the shelf where it had been lovingly wrapped and storred for the past several weeks (I've been using Boyfriend's laptop - he's very good at sharing) I figured I'd just double check exactly what was going on so I could tell the nice people at Apple (who've helped me out before, for free, on very expensive repairs) my specific issues.
I opened up my laptop and promptly felt the urge to vomit. Or faint. Or possibly cry. Who am I kidding? I wanted to do all three at once. Instead I sat there with a look of frozen horror on my face until Boyfriend turned around to ask "What's the matter?" "My screen," I managed to squeak out in a voice that wouldn't disturb a sleeping mouse. Because somehow, folks, my twice-protected-stored-on-a-shelf laptop has a broken screen. We're not talking a little crack here folks. We're talking full on, looks like it was stepped on smashed. The tiny cracks radiate out from the camera in the top center of the screen and three long thin spidery legs extend to three out of four of the corners. I have no idea how it happened. Not. A. Clue. My warranty expired just very recently. I'm not sure how much it's going to cost to repair. I do know I absolutely NEED my laptop, and need it in top working order if I'm going to tackle the madness that is the upcoming semester. I also know it's time to say goodbye to those new pens, daily planner, tights, etc. A mirror in my room is not a necessity. A functioning laptop is.
I - well, Boyfriend, I was a wee bit too distressed - set up an appointment for a little later this afternoon to have my poor pathetic busted little laptop looked at. I'm going in for an estimate, to find out how much it will cost to ship out the little guy and have his screen replaced, as well as that darn trackpad problem.
I know it's only money, and I know I'm very lucky because I will be getting my laptop fixed (Boyfriend may be chipping in as my Anniversary present). I know these are first world pains. . . but guys.
I'm just so upset. Thus I will be going for a quick run and then a good, hot shower (I know it's a million degrees out, but HOT showers are the soothing kind, don't you think?). Maybe listen to my ipopd on full blast for awhile. What about you guys? When unexpected stress crashes into your lap, how do you deal?