I am old and weak. I am tired and broken.
I miss being used. I miss being alive and healthy. I used to be lively, and constantly running. But now, I have to stare at the same sight everyday, alone and lifeless. I sit in the same spot and do not move, I am not turned on anymore or even thought of. A job does not depend on me, I have no responsibilities.
My day usually started with a sleepy “wake-up” as I was turned on around 8 am.  And my awoken sight was to him with a bowl of cereal wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants. This sight was comforting to me, because I knew it was another day I was being used for my purpose. My email app was then opened and checked as a daily routine went. Around 9 or 10 is when the stress came. This is the usual daily time of my buttons being repeatedly clicked and my keyboard would be furiously typing. I found a sense of rush in this, during this period of deadline. In the beginning of my life, I was fit and healthy and I could finish his story within a couple of hours. I always felt a sense of accomplishment. During my later years, I was always rusty and slow. My insides did not always work properly. I quite often would hear groans from him in frustration. I felt insecure when this happened, I felt as if I was letting him down. This was his job and it was important. It was my responsibility-his income and family pretty much relied on me! Towards the evening, I would get a nice break. He would usually leave the office and get distracted by the two girls and older woman. He would sometimes be gone for hours, leaving me alone with the animal who stared at me with sad eyes through that God awful cage. I would always on the edge of my screen, peering out, hoping he would come back.  Later at night, I would be used again. I would be used to finish up any later work he had, or to read any news going on. I felt bonding time with him during this period of the day, because it was slow and relaxed. He always went to bed at late hours, so at midnight would be shut down and put to sleep, in preparation for the next day.
My life cycle changed drastically after September 11th, 2001. From then on I was put to work more than ever. Over time, I grew weak. I was being overworked because I was a computer owned by a journalist going through one of the most catastrophic times in history. I look back on those days and I am satisfied with giving him what he needed to accomplish. Though I was with him more often during that time, I felt less of a bonding time. He was not as focused on me. This was especially true during the time of the 4 books I wrote.
Now I sit on top of this God awful cage, unplugged and dead. I have to watch him type on someone else. I couldn’t have a more perfect view of it. The new one is more fancy, it is better. It is clean, and fast, and modern. I sit here old and ugly, with my letters of my keyboard worn off, collecting dust, ashamed of myself. I wish nothing more than to just not be in this home anymore. I think that I am a piece of memory though, and that is why he keeps me. I am fully aware that we all grow old and lose our senses. But now I sit here lifeless and it is hard for me to accept that I will never work for him again.  I am old and weak. I am tired and broken.