Content is paramount.

Animotion
Vroom

losir logo

He sat in his chair, slouched; a little bewildered, a little dumbfounded. "How did I get here? How did I let myself come to this?"

Staring at the once warm computer, its exposed innards now stood, stopped. Its harddrive, once spun happily, now sat silent - as grey as the case's inner walls. The power supply fan no longer hummed re-assuringly, it too laid dormant. The computer was lifeless, cold, neatly turned off.

The three 21-inch monitors that surrounded him also were blacked out. The only picture offered were the reflections of the man sitting in front of them, and his immediate surroundings. No longer were there inviting browser windows or excruciating documents haphazardly tiled across the desktop. Now they sat, as dark as he felt.

With a heavy sigh, the man pushed himself backwards and up, feeling as if the weight of every computer printout in the world had stacked between his weary and aching shoulders. The strain of the pressure was evident in each facial tick, every flicker of his eys showed anxiety, and a sense of grieving. A chapter of his life had now closed, and even his computer equipment echoed his sorrow.

It seems as if his electronic friends had deserted him. They did not want to be associated with this man. Their whole life had been given to him. Every neutron, every nuance of pixel have been spent for him alone. They toiled with him, without complaint when he suffered through another late night of overtime. They shined for him when he snuck in a game or two of Quake. They shared his hopes, his dreams, his internet shopping. They were even there to witness the continual creation and metamorphosis of blogs.

"You hurt us." accused the blackened monitors and silent hardware. "You said you would love us with the pivot of your mouse and tapping of your fingertips. Now you leave for mere pittance. Judas."

He looked up, no words in defence. He too felt as if he had sold them out, felt like the traitor that they had branded him. How could he leave them with so little thought? How could he pick up and leave all his comrades behind? For what, money?

Well, not just money, although there was that. He left because he needed a challenge, he needed a change, he needed a breath of fresh air. As much as he enjoyed his work, it was stifling his creativity. Pigeonholed into a position, he wanted to be free of misconceptions and misgivings. "Show me a man who's too content with his work, and I'll show you someone who no longer cares."

So he decided on a drastic plan, as the catchy sitcom theme song goes: "....Movin' on up, to the East side." Where the grass was greener, and the pasture more lush. It wasn't so much that he was leaving his past, but he felt it to be a birth of sorts. Reborned into what he should have been, if first he had realized what he could be. "I wonder," he thought, "Do butterflies regret no longer being catapillars?"

The occasion was not supposed to be a parting of friends in sorrow, but rather a heart felt gratitude and gladness for the three years that they had together. Both sides have learned a great deal about themselves and each other, and are the better for it. "Cherish that," he said to my electronic companions. "And it will keep you more warm than an overclocked motherboard with no heatsink or cooling."

They sat there, unmoving, unrelenting, still uncomprehending. The man sighed; a little fustrated, with a hint of pity. There was no more he could say. Nothing that could make their logical yet naive transistors understand. So instead of angered rebuttal, he gently patted each monitor and CPU in turn, wishing them a long and productive life. "May you be as stable in Win98 to the next user as you have me."

With that, he got up and left; flicking off the lights as he exited. Heart heavy and pounding. Yet, there was hint of springiness in his steps. There was a slight jut of a smile at the edges of his mouth. For he knew that come Monday, the challenges would pour on, but hard. He wasn't afraid, wasn't scared, just a little eager, like a yearling waiting for his first practice race in the stall.

So farewell mine old computers, ye have served me well. I will miss thee, as I would miss any other friend. Thou hast truely made a better man of me, and I pray thee to run as quick in future as ye would after a HDD defrag. Mine life has been infinitely enriched by thy unwavering loyality. Thankst.

....My new job will start Monday. I hope I don't get canned. posted by losir at 2:26 AM