Click

That moment when it clicks. They say that it’s like a lightbulb, when you realise that they were no good from the start. But what happens when it doesn’t click? It’s like being sat in a dark room waiting for somebody to flick that switch, to shine the light on all the reasons why you’re better off without them. They say that when it clicks you feel a new lease of life, a ‘screw you’ attitude, determined to show the world you were always better off without them.

The truth is no matter how much someone else shines their light on the imperfections, you don’t listen. They don’t know them like you do, they weren’t there when you saw them cry. They don’t understand because they didn’t know the half. You want to shine your own light on the imperfections but it’s overshadowed by your love for that one person, so you sit alone blind and in the dark. Just wishing you could flick that switch.

That moment when you hear them laugh, see them smile and realise that they are happy now without you. That laugh isn’t the same anymore, it means nothing now. It used to mean so much, like their smile and their eyes. But now it’s like you’re staring at a stranger, and all you think is ‘what have you done with the person that I once knew’. I don’t know you anymore.

You want to hate them for leaving you when you needed them the most, you want to hurt them like they hurt you. To make them understand how it feels to be thrown away. But you can’t, because you don’t wish what you feel upon anybody. If you could only hate them it wouldn’t hurt so much. You could be angry and move on. If only you could explain to them that you still care. But they don’t want to listen, they don’t want you. He doesn’t want you.

So I sit. Waiting for that click. I hope it clicks soon. I’m tired, so tired.

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Why Oh Why must technology be so hard to understand? I would just like to access my email account however MR. Internet has decided that I am a serial hacker up to no good. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t have to use a password – whether its to get through doors, into my phone, to log onto a work station at work (the list is endless).

I can understand that security is important to us but do you ever just take a step back and think… really?

A few months ago I decided to purchase a new laptop from John Lewis (coincidentally where I happen to work), however the people at the bank disagreed with my minor life decision and came to the conclusion that it was clearly far too much money to be paying for a laptop… I didn’t realise my bank account came with my own personal finance advisor! They not only put a stop to the payment going through, but blocked my account insisting that I ring and confirm my identity. Up to this point you are probably thinking “of course they should, you should be grateful for the added security”, well frankly I’m not. I wouldn’t mind if I was paying for a hundred camels to be shipped to me first class from Abu Dhabi, but we are in fact talking about purchasing a laptop from where I work. It’s also not the first time it’s happened, embarrassing when you’re feeling flash and paying for a round of shots at your local and the barman explains “CARDS BEEN DECLINED MATE” (at what he feels an appropriate level of expression, that of course it isn’t).

Makes you seriously question the intelligence of hackers and fraudsters when I struggle to remember my own passwords, sort code and phone number. Do these people have a PHD in password cracking? Is it a degree available to study at Oxford and Harvard? If so I would like to enrol, perhaps then I wouldn’t have to face The Spanish Inquisition every time I decide to purchase a sandwich over £5.99, log into my email account or try and make a phone call.

Do you ever wonder what they used to do back in the days before plastic money was invented? I’m sure the credit/debit card was introduced as a way of lubricating life, along with the mobile phone, online banking and the internet. Invented to ease the stress levels. Clearly the people that invented these things have never received a phone call from the bank! Palms sweaty, face flushed trying to remember the last five purchases you made – the entire experience feels like some kind of game show, where the contestant (you) is doomed to failure from the first question; “can you confirm the third numeral from your birth date please madame?” Who even talks like that ?!! When you eventually work out what Mr Bank is asking, then take the time to work it out you know they are already under the impression that you are a first class fraudster and have the police on speed dial.

So here I sit, attempting to stifle through the mounds of passwords in my brain that could possibly be the match to my email account. Perhaps I should start writing them down, however you are discouraged to do that for fear of hacking. Who on earth would want to read my emails anyway? My inbox, along with the majority of twenty something students, is filled with promotional emails from ASOS and Topshop. No top secret government information hiding in there.

Suzanne 0 – Technology 1