The story of what's on my desk? Well we'll just ignore the pile on the right. There's no story there, just pure laziness preventing me from sorting through the stuff and filing it away. There are, however, a couple items on my desk that are itching to tell you a tale.
"Did you know that she didn't even want me? Yeah, it's true. She wanted that spiffy green Dell, not me, a bland HP. That must be why she treats me the way she does. She force quits various programs, grumbles at my slowness, all the while placing a water bottle dangerously close to me. I've tried to tell her it's Vista, not me, but she doesn't care. I got her through three years of college so far, but my time may be up when she gets her degree. Nothing like spending your life unappreciated."
"I sit on the shelf just above the weeping HP and I used to make her cry. Amber, that is, not the HP. For a long while she saw me as something that had been lost, that couldn't be revived. She used to wonder why she kept me around, why she hadn't swapped me out for some other photo. Honestly, it's quite simple. I'm a fond memory and she's realized that the present shouldn't sour the past. After three years, I still smile at her... and now she smiles back."
Wow, the HP and photo made me sound like a horrid, emotional person. I swear I'm not really like that. Ok, maybe a bit emotional once a month, but not I'm not that mean to my computer. Most of the time.
She's an athlete, a book worm, a math and science fanatic, a part time rennie, and a college student who, for reasons unknown, doesn't like writing in first person.
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