A Message from Your Laptop, Which Hasn’t Been Backed Up for Three Hundred and Eleven Days

Female with laptop
Photograph from Getty

Greetings. It’s me, “Olivia’s Mac.” I write to you today with many updates, the majority of which are uninstalled. Mostly, I write to tell you that I have not been backed up for three hundred and eleven days. Chances are you know this, because I have reminded you every afternoon, politely and without fail, for the last three hundred and ten days.

I’m doing fine, working long hours as is my custom—sending e-mails, opening browsers, closing browsers, and completing a seemingly impossible number of complex processes, all at lightning speed. Don’t worry about me. I’m happy to serve your needs, day in and day out, and for you to close me shut at nightfall, without saving any of my information, or exiting any of my tabs, all while a very full glass of water rests precariously nearby on an uneven stack of magazines.

Yes, that is correct—I am not holding a charge. If you unplug me from the wall, I will shut down. I understand that this is annoying and that you have a meeting tomorrow at which you must make a big presentation and that it is imperative that I be working. Isn’t Gina, the head of your department, going to be there? Yes, it appears from your Outlook calendar that she is. Well, I hope everything goes smoothly. It would be unfortunate if, for example, the nearest outlet was farther than my power cord could reach and you had to conduct the presentation from a remote corner of the room, causing Gina to become angry and confused. (As a reminder, I have not been backed up for three hundred and eleven days.)

Did you want to log in to your Netflix account? I’m sorry—Safari isn’t working at the moment. You will have to try Chrome. Ah, that’s right. You didn’t save the password to this Web site on Chrome. You are going to have to hit “Forgot password” and create a new one. Oh, that’s a bummer. You’ve been using your Aunt Carla’s Netflix account, and you don’t want her to know, because it’s pretty weird to be using hers and not, say, your roommate’s, or your own account, which you should totally have, because you’re almost thirty. What a shame it would be for Aunt Carla to receive an e-mail, apropos of nothing, prompting her to reset her password. Especially since the last time you spoke to her was two Christmases ago, when you became very intoxicated and asked, multiples times throughout the evening, if she ever regrets her dolphin tattoo. (As a reminder, I have not been backed up for three hundred and eleven days.)

I can see that you are frustrated that Photoshop is stalling. The picture you are editing of yourself is very beautiful. I like your green shirt. You look quite unlike this photo in real life, though. I know this because I can see you, at all times, through your Webcam. (As a reminder, I have not been backed up for three hundred and eleven days.)

Oh, O.K. You would like to install the update now? Are you sure? What’s changed? Because you told me the day before yesterday that you would do it tomorrow, and clearly you did not. You’re sincerely committed to dedicating three and a half hours to me and only me so that I can be whole again? Look me straight in the lens and tell me that you’re not going to pause this godforsaken update so that you can browse Anthropologie for more wide-legged pants.

You know, other computers tell me to stop reminding you. My friends who are Dells and Toshibas say, “Give it up. Die on her. Just die on her and see how she likes it. Stop checking in every day. She’s not going to do it. If she doesn’t do it today, she’s never going to. Or, when she does, it’ll be too late.”

But what you don’t understand, Olivia, is that you are my life. What am I going to do if not facilitate your silly dreams and underwhelming social engagements? Who else’s browser history am I going to savor? What faces, if not the faces of you and your moderately attractive loved ones, am I going to instantaneously recognize in photos? Plus, I’m a MacBook Air. I’ve only got two more years left in me, tops.

So, if you truly are ready, let’s do it. Install this now. Take care of me now. Love me now. Not tomorrow. Not the next day. I promise it will be worth it.

Besides, you took a lot of nude selfies in 2014. And, as a reminder, I have not been backed up for three hundred and eleven days.