I understand that ‘Computer Abuse’ may be at the heart of ‘Computer Crash’; at least that is what I have been told by my ‘Computer savvy’ friends. Of course I am under the impression that I never never ever abuse my computer. I share too many secrets, to many prize possessions with my computer. True, I have problems remembering the difference of File and Folder, although my guru never tires of telling all about the office and the cabinets and the files and the folders. I do comprehend that a whole bunch of files can be placed in a folder. And I do remember that a right-click on the Desk Top produces that little dialogue box that asks me if I want a new file or a new folder. That little manila envelope Icon is definitely a folder.

What comes after that gets merrily lost in whatever creative process I attempt? Consequently the little icon bulging with contents and known as My Documents has countless little items in it. The neatest folder is the one titled Icon Columns. All the stuff that I write is tucked away there and each little column calls itself a FILE. They are all alphabetically arranged like in a neat little folder in a neat little drawer in a neat little cabinet in a neat little office. The trouble is that this thing called neatness has never ever been successfully encrypted in my brain. Next to that Icon Folder is another folder titled ‘My Manuscripts’. A rational person would assume that all of my manuscripts are in there, neatly alphabetized. That can be anybody’s wishful thinking. True, there are two manuscripts, identifiable by title. After that, something strange happens. There all kinds of icons, indicating all kinds of things that are not manuscripts. Most of them I have learned to identify. If the icon is blue with a big blue W that could be a document. But I think the similarity ends right there. I often times I create small picture books. They are easier to create in Word where the pictures can be sized and numbered according to whatever purpose I have in mind.

That is where I am guilty of Computer Abuse. My guru grumbles and tells me that he can just hear the computer abuse police knocking at my door. My kind of book-making is created by trial and error, a little bit here and a little bit there and sometimes Word and I fight over a picture and then the picture just disappears. And since, according to my guru I am fond of making pictures as big as a house, it doesn’t take long for stuff to accumulate, add to that the fact that pictures in Photoshop format are not accepted by Word and no one knows where they disappear to. That poor little computer groans and moans about OVERLOAD.

All these things are called ‘computer abuse’ I am told. Grandmama agrees with the guru. I was not an orderly child. Not through any fault of my parents, mind you. They really tried. During the war I had a little suit-case packed and ready to take to the air-raid shelter. It was assumed that I packed important papers, a change of clothing and items necessary for survival, like soap and wash cloth and tooth brush. I wasn’t too worried about that. For me it was important to have my favorite books. When my mother became suspicious about the weight of my suitcase, that little suitcase was opened up and it held everything except the toothbrush the soap and the underwear. I couldn’t make my parents understand that you could always get underwear, but if you lost a favorite book halfway through reading it, you really couldn’t replace it as quickly as underwear.

I suppose the neat police are the same all through one’s life. I am really trying hard not to abuse my beloved computer too much. I’d really hate the thought of someone gaining entry to my files and finding dragons and posies and pictures of unusual things, weeds the guru tells me with a smile.

I promise myself that tomorrow I’ll go through everything name or no-name and delete and defrag and above all, I shall address my computer correctly and I shall use a thing called TIF for pictures that go with words in WORD. It’s called house-cleaning, but let’s face it: I never enjoyed house-cleaning and I seriously doubt that I ever will.