Dear Computer Mouse,

I love you. I understand that we have had our differences; like that time when I was trying to click on a link and you clicked on an ad that said "OMG YOU WIN A FREE IPOD AND LAPTOP AND ROLL OF TOILET PAPER, AND AN ENTIRELY UNDISCOVERED ISLAND IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN! CLICK HERE AND GET IT ALL FREE AND YOU DEFINITELY WON'T GET A VIRUS!!!....." Yeah. Whatever. You get the point. I understand that it must be a struggle for you to follow my directions as to what I want to click on while I'm simultaneously running iTunes, Youtube, Facebook, Microsoft Word, Windows Live Messenger, and editing pictures, as well. You try, you really do. I greatly appreciate that, and while I detest the fact that you are an OCD clean freak, and make me clean you out every two weeks so you won't rebel to make a point, I still feel that we have grown to be very good friends. I also apologize for the many times that I may have blamed you for technical difficulties, when in actuality, you had nothing to do with it; it was all on the shoulders of your less competent relative, the computer. When I asked my mother to buy me a laptop, I figured that your services would no longer be needed. I regret this with every fiber of my being. I deeply apologize for feeling this way. I did not appreciate your greatness, dear computer mouse.

I can now say that I have had the extremely unpleasant experience of collaborating with your moody, stubborn cousin, the trackpad. Either he doesn't understand the difference between clicking a link and scrolling down a page, or he's just trying to piss me off. I know that in the past, I have also stated that you piss me off. The difference between you and your cousin, however, is that you actually try your best to please me, while your son-of-a-bitch cousin laughs in my face and clicks on the ad that says "CONGRATULATIONS!!! YOU'RE THE 209750681604TH F*CKING WINNER! HERE'S YOUR DAMN PRIZE!!!" (Sorry I said f*ck. Don't hate me.) I miss you, computer mouse. Although I've only been without you for a little less than a day, it feels like it has been a lifetime. I understand that my mother does not comprehend the dynamics of your OCD mindset when it comes to being cleaned out biweekly, so just say the word, and I'll happily help you out, ol' pal.

So basically, computer mouse, thank you. I love you and miss you. Please come back to me. It wasn't you, it was me, and I promise you, we will be together once again. Here's what I have planned out: I'll ask my mother for a cheap computer mouse that knows nothing about proper cursor etiquette to use with my laptop. This computer mouse will serve as a decoy (I'm fairly sure I used the word 'decoy' in the wrong context, here, but you get it). Once I get this said computer mouse, I'll discretely switch it for you when my dear, oblivious mother isn't watching. That way, you and I can be together once again, leaving my mother with the young, naive computer mouse. She doesn't understand your dynamics and appreciate you like I do, so the decoy mouse should be sufficient for her computer usage. Let me know if you're in. I miss you, dear computer mouse. F*ck the trackpad.

Sincerely,
Sara