Arguing with the Cursor

Curse that blinking cursor. Sitting there, blinking in time against that stupid blank background. I’ll show it. I’ll write about it and make it dance across this dump page making it poop out letters from it’s behind.

I have bested you again stupid cursor. You can never win against a mind that talks to inanimate objects regularly. Give me a chair, a rug. Any day, at any time. I can beat you time and time again. You will never win.

Except for those nights when you win simply by default. Those nights where I’m up too late and writing for too long. When words blur and my eyes burn. Only when I cannot hold on any longer and you are stuck blinking because my passed out and sleeping self never turned off the computer.

How’s that for a win? Default and a sleeping opponent. Is that the only way you can beat me? Then I shall give you those. You can win those and I will win every battle I am conscious for. How do you like those odds? Don’t have much to say to that?

Well isn’t that always your problem. You never say anything. How can you win a word war without words? Stupid cursor. Your page is no longer blank and you have lost your power over me. Now spit out more words from your behind. Ha ha ha!

Is it your behind? Or are you walking backwards across this page and really just vomiting out these words. Wow, that’s gross. Then again so is words coming out as poop. You know, maybe I’ll stop analyzing you and just let you dance around the page running scared from my words.

Yes! That’s it! You hate words. They scare you. Yet you are forced to be only ever one step away from them. Poor cursor. But then again, you’re the one who started all of this. Sitting there, perched on the top of a vast blank space. And mocking me with your rhythmic blinking. Whose idea was it to make you blink anyway? Who thought that would be a good idea? The only time it’s helpful to see you blink is for a split second to make sure my computer isn’t frozen.

Even your most basic function is fairly useless. How do you feel about that? You don’t feel it, you say? Oh you don’t say anything, you mean? I’m confused now. Who have I been talking to this whole time? Myself? Really? But that never happens. I’m so snooty and never reply to myself. Why would I talk to someone like that. Well, true, it is better than talking to no one. But you’re here. You’re here through all of my writing endeavors.

That’s an odd thought. You’re always here, never say anything, yet I often feel you mocking me. You mean to say that I’m making this all up? No! That’s too much like being creative. And if I’m being creative, I shouldn’t be writing about a dumb cursor. I should be writing stories!

Well, then, let’s get working. I’ll meet you over on another page.