A tremendous attack of writers’ block has beset me ever since I got my lappy. I think it has something to do with the way I keep confusing it for my fragile first-born. I stare for hours at the beautiful shiny surfaces that gleam with the light of joy reflected from my eyes. I run my fingers along the keypad, thrilled by its virgin sheen and I just can’t bring myself to hurt it with harsh keystrokes. I’m absolutely infatuated with it; and every time I sit down to vent my frustrations about some publicity stunt or ponder about the infinite nature of human stupidity (as Einstein had once put it, for all the ignoramuses out there) all the words seem to get tangled up and suddenly all I can think of is whether my keystrokes are light enough and whether I’m abusing my touchpad. I just can’t get properly angry or feel whatever passion may be required for whatever I’m writing on. And unless every key feels what you’re feeling, it’s just not going to sound right!
Yeouch! I’ve been shaking my legs without remembering I have my lappy positioned between my stomach and my thighs, at an angle of 35 degrees. I think I just had a nervous breakdown.
Ah that’s better. I decided not to get so physical with it after all, and have currently restrained myself to the extent of keeping it on the table. Ah my beautiful baby!!
Here’s a poem for it
Beautiful lappy, so shiny and grey
Manufactured in my heart to stay
Who for such dainties would not shop?
Lappy of the evening, beautiful laptop.
Beautiful lappy – who cares for ipod?
Or digicams or funky phones without cord?
Your 120 GB hard drive sure makes me happy!
Lappy of the evening, beautiful lappy!
[ p.s. For those who haven’t figured it out yet, that was a self-confessedly pathetic imitation of “Beautiful Soup” from
If you’re interested, it goes:
Beautiful soup, so rich and green
Waiting in a hot tureen
Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful soup.]