It's one of those most vexatious days invigorated by exhortations from the less refined neighbourhoods of Anglo-Saxon vocabulary.
It is a rubbishy feature of modern life to accrete data of uncertain vintage, origin, and usage, but there's a compelling need to retain it. Data is like digital herpes, we all have it, and once you have it, you can't get rid of it.
But eventually, you have the great idea to create the back up to end all backups. A pantheon of sorts. A fact encouraged by the giddy capaciousness of modern storage. You can simply toss all that data in there and hear the echo. This takes time and effort.
But in the end, it's there, your backup of backups, your digital Pantheon. All is good. Whatever happens elsewhere, it's there, waiting just in case you find a use.
Until you get the error message midway through the process. Cannot copy whatever. Erm, OK, you had one job dear computer, and you failed. Error -1245585908500234834794809234279834285478347593482090754728. Oh that one.
This is probably a cryptic way of telling me that yes, the disk is fucked. Computers have a really hard time telling you this. OK, sometimes that's it, they just don't work. Other times, it's like the slow decline of a relationship. Bit by bit, things don't work, you find yourself arguing more, until finally one day, you realise it's over and she's taken everything. But I thought we could make it work, you'll yell.
First Aid isn't very helpful, your volume is fine, other than I can't unmount it, so it isn't fine. That's simply superhelpful.
