Computer speaks

Good morning to you, said my computer, as I settled in front of it, having breakfasted well with my marit.

Good morning, I said in return.

May we travel calmly today? it said.

What do you mean by that? said I. I hoped there were no implications about overly strenuous computer usage.

And within a few clicks my eyes were opened. The internet was crawling at a snail's pace. The snail in question is arthritic, has a bum hip, and is battling a smoker's cough.

Mr. Computer, I said, let's try to restart you and the internet box, and see if that clears out your lungs a bit.

You are welcome to try any remedy, it said. I was surprised to discover how eloquently formal my computer is. Under the youthful white exterior hides the soul of a professor.

Restarting activities were futile. I think Mr. Computer knew this all along, but was just being polite.

Do not take it too much to heart, it said. You have done your best, and in life inevitably there come the times of testing.

So I am left with a slow day, despite an early start and good intentions. A crawling day.

I am going to go swimming now. I am going to do the crawl.

(Today, I am thankful for the swimming pool across the street. For the swimming pool, with its 19th century iron spans, warm chlorinated air, and the little cubbies lining the water's edge. And for the fact that it is located across the street.)