My MacBook in the Operating Room

It happened in slow motion. One minute, my MacBook was perched on the arm of the sofa my portal to the world,and work. Was chatting to my mate Gordon. The next thing,the computer and the conversation had landed on its head , a sickening crack breaking the silence as it landed screen-first. I stared at it, half-expecting it to pick itself up and assure me, “I’m fine.” But it wasn’t. The screen flickered, lines of digital distress running across it. Immediately propelled into we will fix it and the theme tune to bag-puss signing in my had.

Frantically checking if I had AppleCare , and the panic settled it was then a rush to The Digital Emergency Room

I booked the soonest appointment I could at the Apple Genius Bar, the equivalent of rushing a loved one to the ER. I carried my MacBook into the store like an injured pet, cradling it as if my gentle touch could somehow undo the damage.

The technician took it from me, flipping it open with clinical detachment. He ran diagnostics, his face unreadable, while I sat there, waiting for a verdict. I realized then how much I depended on this machine not just as a tool, but as something far more personal. My MacBook held my work, my writing, my thoughts, my pictures ,my ideas. It was a quiet witness to my best moments and my deepest frustrations.

One screen in stock

“We’ll Have to Keep It for Repair” – Saying Goodbye

When the technician told me they’d need to keep it for a few days to replace the screen, I felt an irrational pang of loss. Logically, I knew it was just a piece of technology, a device that could be fixed or replaced. But emotionally? It felt like leaving my child for surgery.

I hesitated before handing it over,touching the aluminium surface one last time, it was a surreal moment – the unconscious attachment to a machine “it’ll be ok ,” I whispered to my self . The technician gave me a polite but amused smile, clearly used to customers who treated their devices with this level of attachment.

The Digital Bond We Never Talk About

As I walked out of the store, empty-handed, I felt a strange lightness but not the good kind. More like something was missing. I reached for my bag, half-expecting to find my MacBook there, and when I didn’t, a tiny wave of panic hit me. How had I become so dependent on a machine?

Then again, this wasn’t just a machine. It was my creative hub, my connection to the world, my second brain. I had spilled thoughts onto its keyboard, mapped out ideas on its screen, built things from scratch within its memory. It wasn’t just a device it was an extension of me.

The next wave of frantic survival

Leaving voice notes to my work colleagues to arrange emails , phone numbers and things to allow me to continue with upcoming work .

Took myself in Paesano for a pizza to mourn and write down my pensive thoughts .

Have you ever felt this way about your laptop, phone, or another device? The things we use every day become more than just tools they become part of our daily rhythm, part of us. Maybe it’s time to reflect on the attachments we form with technology and what that says about the way we live.