A broken digital camera sits on the shelf, taunting me. A printer that turned out to be so lame that we only use it as a copy machine sits next to the camera. It torments me whenever I leave the room.
In the closet behind me, there's a box of old hard disks that I once disassembled with the intent of doing something to them, but I'll be darned if I can remember what that something was.
Two very old Macs sit on the desk over my right shoulder, recently plugged back in so that I might use them to connect my SCSI Zip drive so that I might salvage the Zip disks that I once thought were a good place to archive digital data. But I couldn't boot them, despite hours of trying.
I have boxes of power cords and boxes of ethernet transceivers. I have boxes of SCSI cables and boxes of telephone miscellany from the days of dial-up. I have two extra DSL modems, an evidently broken broadband router and a replacement for it that was too pathetic for words.
There is a 128K Mac in the garage in the original box. There is a Mac Classic on the shelf that I found by the curb a couple years ago. And there is a green iMac from the days of Apple's infatuation with lickable groovy.
These things were supposed to make my life wonderful, and admittedly they did for a while. I can still hear the Macintosh beep that was such a thrill back in 1984. And I remember Ben unpacking that groovy green iMac on Christmas morning. But in a flash these things were obsolete, and now they just taunt and torment and take up space.
We know what I must do to solve this problem. Imagine the space I'd regain if I could. It's just not in my genes to do it ... yet.
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