Dear Computer

I deeply treasure the expediency with which you allow me to communicate with the outside world, this more than any other ability you possess. Every day I turn to you and plot my escape, anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, although one can seem like the other when the circumstances are right. Because my present situation places me many miles from those I wish to speak with in person, I cherish your ability to let me communicate with the ones I hold most dear to my heart. I think friendships were tempered, bonds were formed, and walls were torn down because of you. You allow me to fulfill a basic human need when more favorable situations won't present themselves for many, many months.

But yet, I would feel nothing would bring me more ecstasy than chucking you out of a window, never to beep again. I hate how I am so dependent on you. You pull me into a reality that isn't tangible, isn't what I can operate in without feeling disconnected from where I wake up and fall asleep every day. More than anything, I feel like you close my world in. You limit me. There is so much I haven't experienced outside, with real people in real places. You're as much as a comfort as you are a drug, and I hate it.

I think I will be the happiest when I can finally rest my soul in a cabin nestled in the Santa Cruz Mountains. While my man is outside chopping wood for the fire, I'll be a domestic goddess spending my days knitting and sewing and experiencing nature as it was intended. As it should be. Without technology.