Saving Circuit Boards

Drip. Drip. Drip. A swamp cooler oscillates, the wing audibly clicks everytime it starts to reverse down. A plant in the corner of the room shakes from the cool air breezing past it. A sudden splash hits a bucket on the floor, half-full due to the water that continues to pool in the wing of the wall-mounted air conditioner. A door frame sits below it, which is starting to stain the white trim with a brown hue that continues to peel more paint down with every new drop. Drip. Drip. Drip.

I set down another bucket as a fresh puddle decided to soak my favorite towel; a shocking turn of events, which I chose to believe was not any fault of my own. Instead, I curse the clueless plumber out under my breath, as I wring my once coveted towel – now wreaking of mold and wet cat hair. I slap it into the basin of my kitchen sink which squelches satisfyingly, causing me to snicker. But a chime sounds in the other room and I’m suddenly reminded of the splitting headache I’ve earned over the course of the afternoon. Splash!

I stumble over the multitude of buckets gathering beneath my doorway from the kitchen to the rest of my apartment – trudging towards what used to be considered my passion in life. The hum of machines droning into every place of my home, wrapped within a constant coil. Drip. Drip. Drip. Tiny glowing screens, so ugly and clunky sitting under such beautiful windows, overlooking a city that merely reflects off my glasses.

The sun casts slivers through my desk chair – which isn’t by any means comfortable. Somehow managing to avoid altering my seating arrangement to be cushier over the years, regardless of how well business has been going. I adjust the paper-thin, emerald green pillow beneath me and sit down, shifting the legs of my splintering chair as it squeaks in response. Daylight glares against my computer screen as some no-name glares back at me, holding a green stick which is meant to be a fantasy weapon for the movie.

The rendering sits done in front of me, finishing just moments ago when my towel sopped its final puddle. The weapon looks dorky, just as I expected it to, but the studio refuses to consider any other design. Before my next passoff, they asked for a last minute addition to the actor’s appearance: glowing blue eyes during every fight scene. A tragically long email chain between me and the assistant director of special effects this morning remains open on my second monitor. We wholeheartedly agree that the choice to cover up the actor’s eyes removes all nuances of emotion to the pivotal fight scenes, but the big-wigs get the last say. They always get the last say…

My back pops and I groan before gripping my mouse, swirling it around ritualistically. I sink back into a meditative pattern of pixels and anchor points. Click. Click. Click. I adjust the color to hex code #00F0FF – wishing I could swim in it. Tap. Tap. Tap. I stare into his hooded left eye. Swirl. Swirl. Swirl. I fiddle with the glowing sliders. Drip. Drip. Drip.

I wipe the sweat from my brow with my forearm and unstick my thighs from the chair. The glow percentage never hits the number I want. I feel addicted to the sound of my mouse hitting my desk in soft successions. Tap. Tap. Tap. I slump forward, my elbow thuds against the desk. My chin and the butt of my hand meet like old friends as I stare at the pixelated pointed finger hovering over the slider. I swirl my mouse around in circles again. Staring at the sliders with a numbness in my brain. Swirl. Swirl. Swirl.

Finally succumbing to physically typing in the percentage I want, rather than rely on the tracking speed of my mouse. Click. Click. Click.

I direct my digital arrow to render this new piece of corporate garbage. My computer rattles in protest, as the special effect starts looking serviceable. My computer whirrs in a louder, higher tone as if mentally and mechanically preparing itself for the process to come. Fortunately for me, I will be rescued once I see that slow cerulean bar show up, then I can redirect my energy toward the… Drip. Drip. Drip.

The computer fans hum louder still.

I hover over the beloved button, when I click and… Splash!

My heart drops to my stomach. My vocal cords knot together in my throat as I watch the last three hours of my life ride on the transformation of my cursor. I freeze ever so still in my ever so squeaky chair. And I watch as my application dulls into the background – freezing my progress, a nauseating pinwheel rotating over the render button. Swirl. Swirl. Swirl. My thoughts dance around my poor choices leading up to this moment – this wretched moment where I can do nothing but fold to the machine. 

When was the last time you saved?

The question spins sickeningly and I follow around hypnotically to the hot pink color.

The answer is spiraling, swirling around in my stomach, knowing deep down that the answer is unknown.

I sit absolutely still, watching like a sick game show to see if I win big or not. The seconds churn to minutes as time… Drip. Drip. Drips. I’m frightened to move, worrying that my trance is somehow preventing the application from crashing.

When was the last time you saved?

I stand in an attempt to remove myself from the pitfall of needing to stare at blue glowing orbs and lidded eyes, perfecting every frame twice in one day. This was not on my to-do list. I regret my cockiness earlier in the month to turn off auto-saving and turn to look out at the world below me; their lights now twinkling in the evening glow.

A plane flies past the skyline from my window.

My head pounds as a plane flies past the skyline from my window.

Another plane?

I blink, searching for the first plane, tricking my eyes into thinking there were even two to begin with. I press my whole body to the window and make a note to consistently stare at farther distances than my computer screen’s from now on. I turn back again in my squeaky chair to check on the progress of my fate: still spinning endlessly.

I stand in an attempt to remove myself from the pitfall of needing to stare any longer at my mistake. I start to visualize pixels in my head, blinking and rubbing my eyes. I pull my hand away from my face, when it clicks back, rubbing my eye again.

I pull my hand away repeatedly, with much more force each time.

My hand and left eye feel magnetic together, their forces anchoring, while the energy of my head attempts to pull them apart. My vision crashes into a mixture of shapes and colors when suddenly, all I can see are squares. My left arm abruptly breaks from my face.

I sit hesitantly in my chair again, my arms hovering over my body, my legs spread apart. My vision clears. I fear for my own body, worrying that touching one part of myself to another could create more magnetic pulls. I start to see shapes appear in my vision again.

Why is this happening?

Why can’t I progress?

I’m looking at the spinning wheel again, still sitting on my computer screen… which is now burned onto the skyline I’m staring at repeatedly…

Swirl. Swirl. Swirl.

I’m pacing across the room: left, right, left, left, left, ri– left, right, left…

Click. Click.

My actions are not lining up…

Tap.

My body feels like it’s hiccupping, skipping moments, snapping commands into my body unwillingly and assuredly. Folding to uncontrollable actions. Alarms sound silently in my head as I turn to the glass. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Open your window.

I open my window, knocking my plant over, wheezing–

I open my window again, knocking my plant over, choking on air that doesn’t belong to my apartment.

I open my win–

I open my window–

I open my window again, knocking my plant over, inhaling sharply, cold air enveloping my mouth.

Splash!

The plant knocks down most of the buckets set out under the doorframe, pooling along my floors. 

When was the last time you saved?

Tears drip down my face. 

My head buzzes.

I look out into the skyline.

I hum.

All I see are circuits.

A massive circuit board twinkling in perfect, blue light.