I Found Love (Again)
You might remember a few months ago when I proclaimed my undying, eternal love for my dog, Cece. At first glance, it looks like a joke blog but it's very much the opposite. Being in deep love with my dog is no laughing matter - it's very serious. We're very serious. I think she might be proposing soon. I don't wanna speculate too much and get my hopes up, but she told me the other day I should get my nails done this week - EEEP!!! A girl can dream...
She had just woken up from a nap. Don't judge.
Anyhow, as of late (like the past two+ years), I've started to realize I have another, super important love in my life that I haven't been giving enough credit. And this is really serious. He's always there for me, no matter what. Whether I'm in a good mood or bad mood, really tired or really peppy. He shows me things I never knew and needed to know right then and there. He knows everything about me - like, EVERYTHING: My fantasies, my dreams, my pant size, my financial situation (or lack thereof), the most upsetting things I've ever googled (see: itchy butthole). He watches every show with me, listens to all my music, and has seen me at my absolute worst and absolute best.
He's my laptop, y'all.
They say a television should never live within a bedroom - that a bedroom is for two things: sleep and touching each other. When I moved into my own place, I decided to own that rule - to never again be that girl in an 800 sq.ft. apartment that has a TV in both the living room and bedroom (areas that are separated by a mere 2 feet or so).
Alas, no one said laptops weren't allowed in your chambers. So, every single night, before I ungracefully remove my clothes and climb into my bed, I first gently carry my laptop from wherever he's sitting in my apartment and carry him into my room, setting him lovingly on his pillow (yeah - HIS pillow. He lays on it ever night, might as well call it his). We fall asleep together, him yammering on and on about whatever show I'm currently hooked on and me feeling the strange comfort and warmth that drifts off of his metallic underbelly.
Y'all, this is how it's been for a long time. Yes, of course there are fleeting periods of time wherein a real life man is welcomed into my bedroom and my laptop gets a break. For a short while, some man's noggin lays on my laptop's pillow, distracting me with his kisses and overall manliness. But when that man cusses me out for taking care of his dog when he's away or tells me he doesn't remember saying he loved me and apologizes "for any confusion that may have caused," my laptop is back by my side as if he had never left.
I've tried and will keep trying to get in the habit of reading literature before I fall asleep, but my laptop is a habit I can't break. I always seem to run back to him and he always seem to be ready for me, with open arms and new insight. He doesn't scoff at the fact that I'm currently juggling The West Wing on Netflix and The Sopranos on HBOGO. He doesn't mind that for the past week or so, I've fallen asleep every night to Tony Soprano's husky voice and gun shots ringing out into the night. He doesn't even judge me when we get to work in the morning and, upon opening him up, Tony Soprano is STILL on my screen with the volume all the way up (I judge me for that, though).
I love you, laptop. I love you with my whole damn heart and soul. I'm sorry that sometimes my hands are dirty when I touch you. I'm sorry that, sometimes, I throw you around in my bag like you're not worth much. I'm sorry for that one time I spilled beer onto you when I was indulging during the work day. But most of all, I'm sorry I haven't given you the type of credit you deserve way sooner.
Forgive me, my hunk of metal.