Slightly Scary

I have little word processor called a Neo that I've been carrying around quite a lot lately. It makes me feel like a true writer whenever I bring it to a friend's house and get the "What the hell is THAT?" look from everyone else sitting there with their laptops.

To me, it's better than carrying around my MacBook because I can work on my novel and not get tempted to get on the internet. Not that I would know how to get online with the thing even if it did get internet (and some models do but I chose the less expensive, more practical one). I discovered that I have no clue how to work the thing last night after writing the beginning to chapter one - draft two (*little jump of excitement*) of my novel and hitting command-N to name the document. I named it... and then it suddenly disappeared from the screen. Oh my gosh, I thought to myself. I killed it. It's gone. What have I done? Two great paragraphs, a half an hour worth of work... I looked up to tell someone how horrified I was and then saw four boys (including the boyfriend) playing Super Smash Brother's on my friend's N64 and decided to keep it quiet.

Instead, I did the smartest think I could think of: hitting command-*insert letter here* with every letter on the keyboard. Something was bound to recover TWO PARAGRAPHS that I had written. I already knew that I couldn't remember what exactly I had written, so what could I lose, right? It wasn't until I hit command-O and started scrolling down that I miraculously found out that I can name documents and save them in another place on my Neo!!! My heart did leaps as I saw my document and my two paragraphs were recovered. Thank God.

I also ended up recovering this little poem. I must have written it ages ago but, reading it now, I feel that it is the obvious reason why the government wants to put a restriction on caffeine (which I'll talk about some other time). Anyway, here you go, for your enjoyment (and my humiliation):

Ode to My Pepsi

Oh –

That brown liquid that I cant get enough of;

The sweet sensation,

Burning and stinging as it slides down my throat,

Tingling my tongue,

Fizzing as I set down the bright blue can.

It loves me dearly.

From the moment I’m struck with that first sip

To the last gulp, shaking and draining the can,

A beggar for every last drop.

I’m addicted, just like my mom;

Although she tries to hide it

By not buying it in six-packs or large 40 oz. bottles

But, never-the-less,

It somehow ends up in our refrigerator.

We have a grand history, my Pepsi and I.

I loved it from the first sugary drop;

It always leaves me wanting more,

Never am I satisfied.

It cools my warm palms on a summer day

And, in turn,

I buy it in mass quantities:

In bottles,

Cans,

And, just like my mother,

Dumping it in tall glasses,

Never daring to drink without ice and a straw,

It will never leave me,

Nor betray my love,

Always with the same tangy flavor,

My addiction.

My Pepsi.