Kicking and screaming.

Up the stairs. I need to print this damn thing. Need to print it. Sign it. Lick it. Send it.

Need to get it off the teuxdeux. I have so much teuxdeux.

That’s when you come in, you sad little beast. You promised to work when I need you to. That’s what the warranty said.

I don’t care about the trouble-shooting section in the back. DON’T MAKE ME CONSULT THE TROUBLESHOOTING SECTION, you high-maintenance, boxy little bastard.

More ink, you say? Okay, fine. I get it. Open your mouth. No, wider. Here’s more ink.

I gave you more ink. I followed the directions. Opened your hard plastic lips and tried not to force you to drink, but I had to. A little bit. Even though I was a little scared you might bite me.

There. Is that better?

Wait. What? You still can’t print? Why? I don’t understand.

SPEAK TO ME.

You’re like dealing with a toddler!

Screaming. Tantrum. Fits and starts. Slam. Slam. Damn. Shit. Fuck.

I am not going to Kinko’s.

I HATE YOU, TECHNOLOGY. No, I love you.

Who is the toddler, really? You? Or me?