My computer died on Tuesday. Not the kind of slow death my cousin suffered when I dared him to eat the entire contents of the collection plate at midnight Christmas mass of 1982, but quietly and quickly. I turned it on, it beeped once confidently, then whimpered, then was no more. I tried my best to mourn her, but I only have ten weeks until the thesis is due, so I needed to buck up and move on, fast.

I’m now typing on a brand new thingymajig, that is large and has bells and whistles and shit, and it’s a desktop, so I’m chained to the home for a while until I can afford a replacement lappy. I didn’t have enough dosh to buy a laptop with all the speed and gadgets I needed for the task at hand, and I didn’t have to shop around much, so I jumped in and committed myself to this.

It’s not a bad device, but it has this thing going on about it which is kinda annoying – face recognition technology. I don’t know what the hell we need this for. But if choose to configure it, the computer’s cam takes a shot of the guy turning on the computer, and can choose not to fire up at all, or choose not to open up certain files and programs. It means every time I turn it on I see a little picture of myself staring at the screen wondering why I can see myself, then little lines and dots cover the capture of my face, and then it says “Welcome… Oh. It’s you.”

It certainly means a change in lifestyle. No longer can I check my emails in the morning before starting my daily man-beauty regimen.

I guess that’s technological determinism for you.

MFEW (my favourite exwife) and I had lunch together the other day. She kept on asking me about who I’m hooking up with, if I’ve gone on any dates lately, whether I’m doing boys and girls, you know, the usual polite conversation that two exlovers talk about. She was surprised when she heard that nobody’s having any fun around me, and I’m not doing much to invite it really. But given that I work full-time, study full-time and have two kids, maybe I should have some more complications in my life. Maybe it’s time to get back in the saddle, especially since of all people, my ex is encouraging me to do so. But I think there are some other signs that it might be time to go out and see people:

1. I’m developing a crush on Graham Norton.

2. I’m having conversations with the tree in my backyard.

3. I’m afraid to buy a pet, only because I start thinking about what the pet would look like when it’s found eating my eight-day old dead corpse in my living room after choking on chorizo fettuccine.

4. At times, out of the blue, I start wondering what Wendy Harmer is up to these days.

5. I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, momentarily convinced that I’ve physically regressed and my voice is breaking all over again.

6. Steve Carrell starts making a lot more sense.

And worst of all,

7. I refer to the last time I had sex as the “Howard years”.