Why, yes. Yes, I do. In fact, I’m often at odds with myself, because I’m a pain in my own ass. There’s simply no reason to pretend otherwise.
Oh, I can be fun to hang out with occasionally. I’m pretty good company when I try, very entertaining. Other times I just want to strangle me. Why? Because I do the stoopidest, most ill-advised things imaginable in every given circumstance. I know it’s likely to blow up in my face. I know it’s likely to cause damage or injury or harm in some way. So what do I do? Proceed full speed ahead with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.
What’s the matter with me? Am I nuts? Possibly. But that doesn’t worry me nearly as much as my impatience. Or lack of self-restraint. Or low boiling point. I am, for all intents and purposes, a loose cannon. Right now, at this very moment, I’m balanced very precariously on the thinnest of thin edges. I’m this close, th-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-s close, to tossing my crummy, cheesy computer here off the balcony. Watching it hit the ground and explode into a million bright, shiny pieces would bring me very great joy.
If I do, though, I’m out of business — I can’t afford to buy another one. Macs used to be such great computers, but this device was designed and built by evil sadists. The touchpad and the mouse are the worst components ever manufactured by mankind. Documents open and close, stuff disappears and moves and reappears, gets deleted and added, expands and shrinks and resizes all on its own initiative. I loathe this grossly overpriced, overhyped piece of junk.
There. I feel slightly better. So if I hurry and get this posted maybe, just maybe, I can shut down before the computer hurtles off to its final resting place — eleven floors below. Wish me luck …
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