Technical Difficulties
And so another ill-fated piece of technology in my life has succumbed to in-built obseletism. I was on borrowed time with Violet as she'd had a total systems failure in late July last year. My partner's wonderfully techy dad replaced the hard drive and installed Linux Mint. I was loving it. I never want a Windows machine ever again (although I'm using one stuck on Windows 8 to type this, and I'm grateful for it).
Violet was still exhibiting signs of mechanical difficulties, and for a long time I was loath to open her up to explore because I simply don't know enough to do this competently. She would run fine again when I gave her a rest to cool down, so on we limped. Then came a failure in her internet connectivity during a podcast recording. I thought it was overheating, but I just couldn't get her back. I hoped a disassemble and thorough clean would help, but I've never got her going again. It could well be something I'm missing in reconnecting everything, but the screen just won't come on.
It is the area near the screen's wires, the power switch and the fan where Violet incurred damage inside my backpack when I had a fall so hard it broke my ribs back in 2016 on the Lancaster University campus. I'll never forget the groundskeeper who persisted in dragging me to my feet by the arm I fell on before I was ready to move. Every time I opened and closed the machine since, it has been breaking apart a little more. I know how she feels.
This is not the first time one of my mechanical devices breaking down has felt appropriately metaphorical. I bought this laptop in Aberdeen when the Dell on which I had written my PhD also broke apart, very literally. I have often come to say that in that research process I began carrying other people's trauma so much it buried my own. I did not have time to dwell on these in my first academic post - a 5-month teaching fellowship providing cover for permanent staff on leave.
The workload was intense, plus I only really had experience of Queen's where I had completed all three of my degrees, so there was a slight culture shock as well. And the endless grey of the weather. It was so desperately cold that winter, the one where the snow came in January and didn't let up or melt until late April. And there were what feel like obligatory dealings with an abusive senior member of staff in the department. My encounters with this person were relatively mild (although still unacceptable) and I'd faced worse within my PhD cohort, but he seemed to effortlessly make life deeply miserable for others. It would be some years before I would learn the fuller extent of this and contribute to efforts to gain some justice - efforts I am sorry to say for the complainant did not change decisions higher up the chain.
The big one was when Rhonda, my wee car, died on the motorway to Salford. I was on sick leave for stress and anxiety during which my line manager - one of the two senior colleagues causing my ill-health - would not give me peace. I was only going back from being with my partner in Newcastle because I had an appointment for an ECG with my registered GP the next morning. I was experiencing chest pain, which was increasing the closer I got to the site of mental torture. I was extremely worried that I was on course for coronary arrest, so bad was the pain in my chest and upper left arm. Then the car suddenly jerked and the accelerator lost power.
For the first time I was thankful for the endless roadworks and the 50mph speed limit. When I pressed on the gas, the car lost speed, so I had to drift. I put the hazards on. Angry drivers whizzed past on the outer lane honking their horns. The hard shoulder was coned off. It was late at night in January. I got lucky; a slip lane for a services was in sight. I made sure no one was turning left at speed near me and drifted over. I judged that I wouldn't make it to the car park and wouldn't be strong enough to push the car myself. It was very dark with little lighting around.
I stopped in the hard shoulder of the slip lane. Danny from the AA told me off for this. I'm pretty sure he fleeced me by convincing me to let him take the car to one of his mates somewhere in Greater Manchester that wasn't an AA partner garage. I just didn't have the wherewithall to keep track of what was happening, and my emotional connection with the car I had had adventures all over Ireland and Britain in was foremost in my mind as I knew that was her done for. The timing belt had snapped and caused extensive damage in doing so. It would have cost double her worth to replace. I had continuous issues with the car in the 8 years I'd owned her. Her tortured wee mechanical life was now over and I had bigger problems to face in the coming weeks.
And poor Violet, it is time to put her to rest. It is time to research and figure out what will meet my work needs. If I can invest in something powerful, then maybe I can make a real go of the audiovisual podcast business and not be embarassed by my struggling equipment. This is a worry because as it stands I earn very little. This will be one last try at making an investment that could help me earn more because I can produce better quality work. It is time to make positive changes and say no to the small, consistent tortures presented by barely working technologies. I am in a mood of using what I've got, and this time it'll have to be the bit of savings at my disposal combined with the ability to research and analyse information. Something has to give, and I'm tired of it being my energy and sanity.
Slip me a fiver at https://www.buymeacoffee.com/peablair.
Violet was still exhibiting signs of mechanical difficulties, and for a long time I was loath to open her up to explore because I simply don't know enough to do this competently. She would run fine again when I gave her a rest to cool down, so on we limped. Then came a failure in her internet connectivity during a podcast recording. I thought it was overheating, but I just couldn't get her back. I hoped a disassemble and thorough clean would help, but I've never got her going again. It could well be something I'm missing in reconnecting everything, but the screen just won't come on.
It is the area near the screen's wires, the power switch and the fan where Violet incurred damage inside my backpack when I had a fall so hard it broke my ribs back in 2016 on the Lancaster University campus. I'll never forget the groundskeeper who persisted in dragging me to my feet by the arm I fell on before I was ready to move. Every time I opened and closed the machine since, it has been breaking apart a little more. I know how she feels.
 |
| Violet in bits |
The workload was intense, plus I only really had experience of Queen's where I had completed all three of my degrees, so there was a slight culture shock as well. And the endless grey of the weather. It was so desperately cold that winter, the one where the snow came in January and didn't let up or melt until late April. And there were what feel like obligatory dealings with an abusive senior member of staff in the department. My encounters with this person were relatively mild (although still unacceptable) and I'd faced worse within my PhD cohort, but he seemed to effortlessly make life deeply miserable for others. It would be some years before I would learn the fuller extent of this and contribute to efforts to gain some justice - efforts I am sorry to say for the complainant did not change decisions higher up the chain.
The big one was when Rhonda, my wee car, died on the motorway to Salford. I was on sick leave for stress and anxiety during which my line manager - one of the two senior colleagues causing my ill-health - would not give me peace. I was only going back from being with my partner in Newcastle because I had an appointment for an ECG with my registered GP the next morning. I was experiencing chest pain, which was increasing the closer I got to the site of mental torture. I was extremely worried that I was on course for coronary arrest, so bad was the pain in my chest and upper left arm. Then the car suddenly jerked and the accelerator lost power.
For the first time I was thankful for the endless roadworks and the 50mph speed limit. When I pressed on the gas, the car lost speed, so I had to drift. I put the hazards on. Angry drivers whizzed past on the outer lane honking their horns. The hard shoulder was coned off. It was late at night in January. I got lucky; a slip lane for a services was in sight. I made sure no one was turning left at speed near me and drifted over. I judged that I wouldn't make it to the car park and wouldn't be strong enough to push the car myself. It was very dark with little lighting around.
I stopped in the hard shoulder of the slip lane. Danny from the AA told me off for this. I'm pretty sure he fleeced me by convincing me to let him take the car to one of his mates somewhere in Greater Manchester that wasn't an AA partner garage. I just didn't have the wherewithall to keep track of what was happening, and my emotional connection with the car I had had adventures all over Ireland and Britain in was foremost in my mind as I knew that was her done for. The timing belt had snapped and caused extensive damage in doing so. It would have cost double her worth to replace. I had continuous issues with the car in the 8 years I'd owned her. Her tortured wee mechanical life was now over and I had bigger problems to face in the coming weeks.
And poor Violet, it is time to put her to rest. It is time to research and figure out what will meet my work needs. If I can invest in something powerful, then maybe I can make a real go of the audiovisual podcast business and not be embarassed by my struggling equipment. This is a worry because as it stands I earn very little. This will be one last try at making an investment that could help me earn more because I can produce better quality work. It is time to make positive changes and say no to the small, consistent tortures presented by barely working technologies. I am in a mood of using what I've got, and this time it'll have to be the bit of savings at my disposal combined with the ability to research and analyse information. Something has to give, and I'm tired of it being my energy and sanity.
Slip me a fiver at https://www.buymeacoffee.com/peablair.
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