Two nights ago, my laptop finally committed suicide. I knew it was coming for several months just kept pretending like everything was fine. But about five minutes after letting one of my roommates use it, the damn thing just started squealing like a stuck pig and, well, the rest is history.

But, thanks to a mysterious benefactor, I was able to get a replacement for the old girl right away, and didn’t really miss a beat - well, almost. All my old files on it were lost: mostly illegally-downloaded music, lots of weirdo images and a little bit of writing. And the rest of it, well, I just can’t remember what was on there, so I really don’t miss it.

Hold on tightly, let go lightly, a friend of mine in New York used to say.

Another friend of mine here in Baltimore recently had his car broken into (an all-too-common occurrence here) and had two bottles of wine, two bags of potato chips (?) a Nintendo DS and some “paraphernalia” stolen - all of which was replaced in short order. But the first thing it all made me think of was video games: how if you reach a point where you can save your game, then you’re all good. But if you don’t reach that point, then you have to do the level all over again.

Or else find a warp zone.

Part of me wonders whether the mysteries of file loss and laptop deaths are somehow equivalent to what humans are: we’re inhabited by some mysterious spirit that picks up and puts down bodies as they wear out. When most of us die, our “files” (memories, and the sum total of our experiences) are lost into the ether. But maybe there’s a way where we can connect back to that ultimate source, so that no matter what happens, no losses are incurred. Every moment becomes a save game point and a warp zone and - who knows what else.