Cry Me a River, Cowboy

Friday, August 19, 2016

 

My laptop died on Monday. It was on, I went and did other things, when I came back the screen was dark. It’s an old computer, every now and then it gets tired and turns off. Weird, but whatever. You push the button and it comes back on.

Except this time it didn’t.

And actually the exact same thing happened last year, it went dark and stayed dark. I took it to my IT friend Tom and he looked at it and declared it a lost cause but took out the hard drive and transplanted the hard drive into a different body (separate story there, I will spare you the details) and that was fine, it booted right up, no problems at all. I was back in business.

So in my mind, on Monday, this is the same thing. I know we won’t be able to transplant again, but that’s okay, it’s time for me to move on from this computer anyway, it was barely functional even before the screen went dark. The reason I hadn’t gotten a new one is because I’m still feeling a bit in between things at this point and I hadn’t figured out what I should get to replace it. And I had all of my systems set up for this computer, and adjusting to a new computer is so hard for me — the autistic person who lives inside my brain is completely change averse. Especially with computers. Man, I just hate getting a new computer, I put it off as long as possible, and even when I do it, I never quite adjust to the change, there are always things I miss about my old computer.  If it were up to me, I’d still be using DOS. (Oh, XyWrite how I miss you!)

And given the age of my computer, my extreme attachment to my data, and my general level of technical competence (seriously, I am technically competent, I am the person you call when you can’t figure out how to get your printer to work or just what is going on with your computer), you’d think I would have been really on top of the data backup thing. I’d have local backups and cloud backups and some kind of syncing thing so everything was totally covered. All of that. Right?

Um, yeah.

So I get a replacement laptop from my friends at Triangle Ecycling and I take my Mac to my IT friend Tom and he takes out the drive and plugs it into a different computer and … nothing. Doesn’t show up. Drive not readable.

I am not expecting this. At all. I’m like What? What do you mean it isn’t showing up?? My heart starts racing. My mind goes blank. I’m sure the color  drained from my face.

I am a crazy data tracker. The great value of my data is that I have a giant data set — most of my emails dating back to 1993, all of my spending since 1995, time logs from 2003 on.

I have a good memory, I remember much more than the average person, but I also have a huge amount of data that I can mine. If we are trying to figure something out and we can’t remember what happened, I say, “Okay let’s go to the tape.” I can look through emails to see what we said, review spending records to see what I actually spent money on, look at time logs to see what I was working on. It’s like a huge external brain where all of our collective past is stored.

So of course I have this all backed up. Right?

Right???

All I can say is F*k Me.

And I also have to say that I have been feeling conflicted about this element of my personality for a while now, my great love of random information from my past, and my ongoing devotion to data tracking. It sometimes feels like a burden, to have all this stuff that I have to worry about keeping track of, to carry around with me for the rest of my life. When does it end?

And apparently this conflict prevented me from properly managing this storehouse of data. I just didn’t back things up, even after I bought a new external drive and was totally going to be organized. The drive is still in its packaging, I never even opened it.

So apparently when this ends is right now, in 2016, two weeks after my 49th birthday and two weeks before my last CPA exam.

Well.

This is like someone ignoring their girlfriend — la la la, I don’t need you — until she leaves and then he is like no, wait, I totally didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it! I’m sorry! Come back!

I remember telling a story to my friend Christine about a friend who dated a guy who she was really into but who was totally a jerk to her and they had broken up and she went on a trip with another guy and all of a sudden jerky boyfriend was like wait, I miss you! And he was all nice to her and telling her how sad he was and how much he wanted to be with her and how he couldn’t live without her.

So I’m telling Christine about my friend and she says, “Okay so he’s a jerk until she goes away with someone else and then he can’t live without her?”

And I say, “Yup, pretty much.”

And Christine says, “Oh, cry me a river, cowboy.”

So there you have it. Cry me a river, cowboy. My data is gone.

And it’s not like I don’t have any backups, I do, I have most of the older stuff, but I don’t have any of the most recent stuff and the thing about the recent stuff is I can’t even say what’s valuable. The data is only valuable in retrospect, when I can look back and see what happened, or remember stories that I told in emails that completely disappear with the passage of time (remind me sometime to tell you the Courtney the Clown story), or write things that later turn out to be worth reading. And also just because the sheer volume of it — the value is that I have everything.

Except now I don’t. How will I know I was even here?

I talked to my friend Ann after I found out. I said maybe it’s time to turn over a new leaf, to start fresh and not track data anymore. Just live in the moment.

She said, “Yeah. Let me know how that goes.”

Then we looked up the stages of grief to see where I was at (3=bargaining, (4=loneliness).

I miss you my data friends. I’m sorry I didn’t take care of you. So sorry.

So anyway, that was my day on Thursday.

And then I tried to study and focus on accounting for pensions and you can just imagine how that went.

But Friday is a new day.

Carpe diem.

Half Full, Half Empty

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

I was cleaning up some files on my computer the other day and ran across a message I wrote to a friend in spring 2015 describing the origin and context of what my law professor had dubbed The Currie Rule.

(I was in an accounting program, but I took all of the business law classes that were offered. Which was totally a good call, understanding basic legal concepts at this point in my life is completely useful.)

I’m posting a slightly reworked version of the message here because I think it is funny that this became a thing in class, and also I think that it is an oddly accurate representation of my world view.

That glass may look half-full now, but someday it will be empty.

****

So my law classes are taught Socratic method — professor asks question, student answers, general discussion ensues. Back and forth, questions and answers.

I talk some in class, but I try to not talk too much. If other people are willing to give answers, then they can just go ahead. Sometimes in the law classes I end up talking because the 24-year-olds can be so dumb, they just have no common sense. So a lot of times when I talk it’s to say something completely obvious that no one else seems to be able to think of. My professor appreciates that about me. (In the Mod One class I had with her, she told me I was “exceptional.” Yay, me.)

I don’t remember exactly how this came up, but it was in the partnership class during Mod Two, we were talking about getting everything written into the partnership agreement in the beginning, making sure everything is figured out up front, including how losses will be handled.

The professor asks why you want to do this in the beginning. Why do want to go through all of this detail from the start, talk about both profits and losses?

Some bright young thing gives a narrowly correct answer — something like because you need to file the paperwork in the beginning. Professor says, “Yes, that’s true … what else?” Another 24-year-old with another technically correct but incomplete answer, “Yes … what else?”

Sometimes this goes on for a while. I don’t remember how long it went in this case, but eventually I decide that the 24-year-olds aren’t going to come up with the answer. I raise my hand. Professor sees my hand and calls on me, “Yes, Ms Currie?”

I say, “Because in the beginning, no one ever thinks anything is going to go wrong. No one starts a business to lose money. And then once you’re losing money, you don’t want to have to figure out what to do. Things are already a mess and then it just turns into a bigger mess.”

She said, “That’s exactly right.”

So then for the rest of the year in her classes, any time the answer had to do with things going south and people losing money, she would call on me.

“Why is this, Ms Currie?” she’d say.

And I’d say, “Because no one ever thinks they’re going to lose money.”

She called it The Currie Rule.

In the ethics class that she taught in Mod Three, we had a class on sexual harassment. I was in the day’s second session. When I walked in to the classroom, she saw me and said, “Oh, there you are Ms Currie! I was looking for you in the earlier class.”

She said they were talking about office romances. She said she was looking for me to invoke The Currie Rule. All I could think of was about losing money, I was confused about how that related to an office romance.

She said, “No one ever thinks they’re going to break up.”

I said, “Oh yeah, that too.”