I have my laptop returned to me, whole and undamaged. Hallelujahs resounded within my house the moment that little brown box appeared on my doorstep.
Ignore the strange echo of furious cursing at the 'you missed our delivery time' that was left on the door the day before. It is but a distant memory. The white, glossy finish beneath my fingertips has soothed my soul, while the rhythmic tapping of computer keys and the artificial glow of the screen is calming my nerves like chamomile tea and chocolates. The heat against my thighs as I support the brittle box is a familiar, welcomed burn. My eyes squint already from overuse as I am unable to even blink in the fear that this ecstasy will disappear again and leave me alone and laptop-less.
I am a computer addict, and I accept my fate to be slouched, withered, and blind by the age of 45.
I NEED my computer like I need air. More so, because without air I'm merely a corpse. Without my computer, I go mental and then there is always the fear that other people will be the ones to die during my crazed spasm of insanity. Life is worth living again, for myself and all the innocent victims that have been spared without their even realizing their near-brush with the cold, caffeine-buzzed, hand of death.
I will now go and write with gay abandon on... well, gay abandon.