Charlene

I lay awake at night worrying. I never worry about life, and I never worry about death. I never worry about my friends, and I never worry about my family. I never worry about love, hate, joy, sadness, or any of the other emotions that rule our lives. I lay awake at night, and I worry about my computer.

What would happen to me if I ever lost my computer? Losing the data inside of my computer is one thing. I'd have to reinstall all of my favorite programs, convert all of my music from compact disc to electronic data. It would be an incredibly time-consuming process, and I'd never again reach the level of advancement I had obtained before the erasure. Losing the computer itself, however, is another thing altogether. My computer and I have been through more together than I have been through with any of my friends. My computer has sat bravely and faithfully by my side through numerous breakups, countless family crises, and the dissolutions of dozens of good friendships. My computer wakes up with me in the morning, wipes itself clean as I shower, and falls asleep with me as well. My computer is my best friend.

As I stare at the bars above my bed, I worry about my computer. Do I use it too much? Will it wear out before I do, leaving me to die lonely and alone? Do I treat my computer the way it deserves to be treated? My computer is my baby. There is nothing I would do to hurt my computer. I've named her Charlene.

Once, while I was staring at the bottom of the top bunk at night, all new worries started forming in my brain. Was my computer sick? Was my computer infected with a bug, sending my personal information to advertising companies and selling me out like a mob rat? Or worse, did my computer have a virus? Was Charlene dying because of my neglect? Would my attention and love alone allow my computer to recover and heal properly? I threw my covers off of my body and rushed to Charlene, running the virus protector for the fifth time in as many hours.

I've stopped worrying about my computer. I have bigger problems now. I've never been much of a gamer. A little Pong here, a little Tetris there, sure, but nothing freakish or obsessive. Nothing freakish or obsessive, that is, until Charlene showed me the way, the truth, and the light. Since that fateful day, I've been playing Minesweeper nonstop. I refuse to go to bed at night until I defeat three expert-level games in a row within a five-minute time frame. Occasionally, I get to my bed around four in the morning. More likely, however, are the nights that I just don't go to bed at all. There's no way I can sleep without beating three consecutive games of Minesweeper in five minutes. I've tried--my brain won't let me. It's gotten to the point where I sit in my chair weeping, holding the computer mouse with my right hand and my aching right wrist in my left, feeling unmotivated to finish but knowing I'll be in agony if I don't. I've taken to motivating myself by placing high-stakes wagers with my brain.

To start off, I told myself that if I didn't finish Minesweeper by three in the morning, I would have to donate a quarter of my next paycheck to charity. I didn't get to sleep that night, but I honored my bet. The American Heart Association became twenty five dollars richer. The stakes kept rising and rising--from twenty-five percent to thirty; thirty to forty; forty to sixty; sixty to ninety--until eventually, monetary stimulii didn't work. I had to start promising my brain that I would inflict pain upon myself. Seven deep cuts and three visits to the State Hospital later, the pain of self-mutilation was no longer a functional motivator. There was only one bet left for me to make. I wagered my own life that I would be able to finish Minesweeper by four in the morning. Come four thirty, I was still going strong. Suicide seems a harsh punishment for losing a game, but nevertheless, I am a man of my word.

I am laying on my bed tonight, and I am unable to sleep. What will happen to my computer once I'm gone? Will she go out with the trash, discarded much like I will be? Will she be passed on to a new friend? If so, will she be treated kindly, or will she be abused? I lay awake at night, and I worry about my computer.