The all-too timely demise of my 8-year-old MacBook Pro.

The cause of my aging computer’s timely death was my own damn hubris.

The battery on my trusty 2015 MacBook Pro had been running on fumes for a while now. Its portability days long behind it, the laptop had to be plugged in continuously, or it would shut down in self-preservation. Yet there was an untenable price to pay for that détente.

The cause of my MacBook's death was my hubris.

The came with a garish white charging cable that clashed horribly with my home's dark hardwood floors. Tired of hiding it whenever friends visited, I bought a black, off-brand cable. And, friend, that's when the Fates intervened.

I guess I kinda had it coming.

I had altered the natural order of products, and the Fates could not let that stand. Almost immediately, the MacBook stopped charging properly. Its connector-nubs (I'm fairly sure that's their technical name) had worn down and no longer made a solid connection.

Oh, cruel Fates! Why have you effed me thus?!?

After Googling replacement part costs, I instead bought a new 15-inch MacBook Air. My old Mac, no longer fast nor functional, will get shelved until I'm bored enough to wipe the OS and install some variant of Linux, probably ElementaryOS.

After that, it will be gutted for parts and chucked into the trash can of history, much like people who've checked the “organ donor” box on their driver's license.

Cards and condolences, appreciated.

NOTE: The above hero-photo is from back when I dropped it, and had to replace its aluminum shell. We've been through a lot together.

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