Letter to my laptop
Dearest Laptop
I know you aren't the best - inside or out; you have a large dent in you from where your previous owner dropped you and the colour around your touch pad has been rubbed off by my palms resting there too long. Yes you have been known to throw sparks out of various parts of your underbelly, generate enough heat to warm a small city and take over 20 minutes to turn on. Your internet is slow and the last microsoft update you had was in 2003 making you incompatible with everything. You frequently forget you have a touch pad and your up arrow is often found on the floor. You are shaped like a paving slab and weigh about the same. But still I love you.
I know it must be hard seeing me with this new mac, which I am currently typing this letter on as you sit sad and alone on the footstall slowly transfering my files to my usb stick, ocassionaly freezing, but my heart still belongs to you and forever will. I hate this mac, despite the fact that it turns on when I ask it to, can be carried without the aid of a fork lift truck and doesn't smell slightly strange. My loyalty is with you and all PC kind and shall never go over to macs even if I sort of have already. When this mac sits at uni full of essays and notes my heart will be with you, my elderly paintshoppro and your ever decreasing memory. This may seem like a hard blow, me being away all week having an affair with a mac but it is you I am thinking of, everytime I touch its touch pad I will think of yours, it just doesn't glide the same way yours does and it doesn't even have a hash key.
This will not be the last time my eyes look into your grubby and dusty screen.
Yours truly and forever,
Me
I know you aren't the best - inside or out; you have a large dent in you from where your previous owner dropped you and the colour around your touch pad has been rubbed off by my palms resting there too long. Yes you have been known to throw sparks out of various parts of your underbelly, generate enough heat to warm a small city and take over 20 minutes to turn on. Your internet is slow and the last microsoft update you had was in 2003 making you incompatible with everything. You frequently forget you have a touch pad and your up arrow is often found on the floor. You are shaped like a paving slab and weigh about the same. But still I love you.
I know it must be hard seeing me with this new mac, which I am currently typing this letter on as you sit sad and alone on the footstall slowly transfering my files to my usb stick, ocassionaly freezing, but my heart still belongs to you and forever will. I hate this mac, despite the fact that it turns on when I ask it to, can be carried without the aid of a fork lift truck and doesn't smell slightly strange. My loyalty is with you and all PC kind and shall never go over to macs even if I sort of have already. When this mac sits at uni full of essays and notes my heart will be with you, my elderly paintshoppro and your ever decreasing memory. This may seem like a hard blow, me being away all week having an affair with a mac but it is you I am thinking of, everytime I touch its touch pad I will think of yours, it just doesn't glide the same way yours does and it doesn't even have a hash key.
This will not be the last time my eyes look into your grubby and dusty screen.
Yours truly and forever,
Me