A computer is a rock. It’s a (very) finely carved chunk of silicon and ore.
A computer is hard in the same way a rock is hard – when you crash into it, it bruises you, because you are bruisable and it is not. It is more stubborn than you are. A computer is what it is, and it isn’t interested in being anything other than that. No matter how hard you try or how much you anthropomorphize him, he’s not going to become anything other than a finely crafted rock.
When you interact with a computer in the closest, most detailed and most involved fashion possible (programming it) you bruise yourself. When the clock turns midnight, your program’s hideously broken, and you’re drinking strong coffee, using strong language… You blame the computer, question its motives and curse its shortcomings.
The computer doesn’t care. It’s a rock. After you’ve thrown your tantrum, it will be exactly the same rock that it’s always been. Eventually, you may feel silly for ranting at a rock. You may feel burdened by your own inadequacy and lack of understanding of the rock’s dimples, crevasses and edges.
You will be forced to accept that you are foolish and that the only way to work with the rock is to work with what it is, not with what you imagine it to be. When you accept that, it will still be there, the same as it always was.
This is why I hate computers.
2 Responses to "My computer… the rock."
Thankfully for you, the *rock* of a computer will not up and whack you for saying you hate it. Though perhaps this indifferent lack-of-response only makes you hate it more?
You’re right. The computer isn’t malicious, per se. It doesn’t have to be. It knows that you have perverse desire (a need, really) to keep bruising yourself upon it. It’s just too darn neat and shiny. Like a moth to the flame.