To my computer class,
I thought I would like you at first, fond as I am of computers. Surely it would be joyous to learn more about you and, in so doing, bond until we were close partners not soon to be parted. We started with small talk, as new couples are wont to do. You began by telling me how to copy folders and relabel files. I thought you attractive, and so I stuck around thinking that there would be more to you. But your inane ramblings were just that with no deeper meaning attached to them. I was fooled because I allowed myself to be fooled. But that was just the beginning.
You moved on to Word Processing, and I thought, "Something we have in common!" But again, you offered nothing new. So enamored was I of this line of thinking, I stuck around. We were in the midst of that new relationship feeling where everything you do is cute. But cute was beginning to wear thin and I began to see the ugly hag that was beneath the makeup. You did not look like that last night before we went to sleep. What happened? But now you have your tentacles, long raggedy things ending in claws, stuck into me and I find I cannot escape.
What began as curiosity has turned into a nightmare. I wish to escape but find that I cannot. This has got to end, Computer Class. I am no longer attracted to you. We have nothing in common. I knew from the start that we had nothing in common, but I was fooled into complacency by your high resolution monitor and access to the internet. But even these things leave me bored and I fall asleep while in your embrace.
So this is my letter to you, Computer Class. We are through. No longer will I listen to you drone on and on about how to create databases, spreadsheets, and saving files. I refuse to listen to you tell me how to import a word document into a powerpoint document. This is the last time I will speak to you, Computer Class. I ask you to remember the good times. Remember? That one good time? No?
Me either.
Die.
