Oh I know nobody calls you that anymore. But we've known each other so long I thought you wouldn't mind.
What's that? You don't remember me? Think back to the old days...San Francisco...the '90s...I remember when you were young, brash, and awkward, moving fast and so sure of yourself. I was there, helping to groom you before you made your big debut. I polished and spit-shone your semicolons and commas--no split infinitives here! Don't you remember? I was one of the people who helped you look professional, important, worth taking seriously, back when most folks thought you were a passing fancy with a big mouth.
Well, I suppose I was one of an enormous cast, working all hours in the high-tech sweatshops of San Fran while your bubble grew and grew. I was one of the ones you broke, pushed too far until my poor hands were too sore and gnarled to hold a fork, much less tickle your keys anymore. But you plugged along, became something enormous, almost monstrous, swallowing anyone in your path--and your path was vast.
I didn't want anything to do with you for a long time after that. And then, all of a sudden, your glamour wore off and everyone saw your warts, your limitations, the ends of your possibilities. A lot of people turned away; your bubble burst. You dragged a good many people down with you.
But that's all in the past. We're survivors, you and me, perhaps a good idea, good potential, pushed to extremes. I don't know. You've grown, I've grown, we've healed. I've come around again, decided to give you a second chance. Little by little, you've proved yourself to me; as long as I take you in small doses.
Really, I never strayed too far. But now, I'm interested in taking "us" further. More personally. So here I am, reintroducing myself, extending my hands toward your amorphous ether. I'd like to be friends, help one another achieve our goals: to reach more people than we could alone, to connect, to share ourselves. And hell, I'll throw in a free spit-polish anytime.
Thanks, C. It's good to be back.