Seymour

I get oddly attached to some inanimate objects. It's a problem, really. I can't help but personify the items I use daily, attributing them with traits until they seem to possess feelings as real as my own. This makes it strangely emotional when the inevitable happens and they are lost, replaced, or outdated.

Changing computers is one of the most difficult of these object transitions. Affectionately dubbed Seymour, my now six-year old Dell desktop computer has been both loved and cursed throughout his well-utilized life.

His arrival in my life was a complete surprise. I was in seventh grade and the technological age was dawning. Teenagers growing up in the early 2000s were rapidly joining the digital age and everything, academic and social, was going digital. I was spending more and more time on the family's old computer, even in the now unthinkable dial-up days.

Mom had just begun a new career and was making some money of her own. Even though she's always had her only child tendencies towards selfishness, she loves surprising people with big gifts. She definitely doesn't mind spending money.

I woke up that Christmas morning to find Seymour sitting in the living room in all his brand new computer glory. At the time, he was pretty up to date with his flat, sleek screen replacing the mammoth monitors common at the time. Of course, I was totally surprised and overjoyed.

During the next six years, a lot would happen to me as I sat in front of Seymour. It was there I typed all the papers and did all the research and created all the school newspapers that came to define me in a certain way. I sent all the IMs that kept me in touch with old friends and brought me closer to new ones. I discovered new books and music, troubleshooted all of life's problems, read the news, connected to the world.

I grieved when he crashed and paid copious amounts for his repair and restoration unto me. The computer, in earning his human pronoun, became an integral part of my life. It's amazing how computers become so precious, preserving the carefully typed thoughts and work, captured memories in 'My Pictures,' painstakingly composed playlists.

Perhaps Seymour's most important role was keeper of my college and scholarship applications. On his screen, I first saw my Carolina acceptance letter, the magic words defining the rest of my life.

So I can't help but feel a little bad sitting here typing this on my sleek and shiny new university-provided laptop. Seymour's blank screen across the room looks neglected, archaic. Though he's pretty much useless now--virus ridden, memory full, impossibly slow, something about putting my fingers on his home keys feels like home.

Okay, okay. I'm being incredibly silly. I know it's just a computer, circuits and wires incapable of feeling lonely or anything else. But maybe, sometimes I will fire him up. Just to feel better.

Goodbye Seymour. I'm sure I'll grow just as attached to this computer in good time.