Another theory about calculators. Or rather, I didn’t finish my thought on the matter the last time — I got lost in a sea of theory. I just wanted the calculator to know intrinsically what I wanted it to do. By, say, pressing two plus two plus . . . I always was hoping it would pick up on it and when I pressed ” once, it would go on and enter the two again (which a lot of calculators, especially the older, more secretarial ones do anyway, without the calculator being magic).
I guess that’s it really. I just didn’t feel as if that was explained clearly enough before. The importance of magic. Of understanding, intrinsically, what I want and need.
Did you ever have magic as a child? It has taken me years to admit how taken in I was by the lure of magic as a child. I cried when I found out Santa didn’t exist. It took weeks for me to accept it was true. I was in sixth grade when the news was broken to me. Broken to me by another child, who was spiteful and hateful to me. He said it solely to crush me. That at least once, in a fit of loneliness, I wrote a note to the Leprechauns, the Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny begging them to be my friends because I didn’t have any.
This comes to me as sad news from a distant land. I found the note several years ago when cleaning up my room. Can you imagine what kind of desperation a child would be in to need that kind of hope? That kind of fierce devotion?
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