Settling on some old song from some old movie, I continue going through the start-menu programs to amuse myself as the modem dials up for another time that shall remain rather countless. A thought kind of crosses me that I have a lot of junk on the computer, which I will have to look into later. Meanwhile, that busy tone is still beeping bright . . .
If the commercials are telling the truth, Internet-on-cable really isn't supposed to cost that much more than the traditional Internet-via-phone. Of course, that is still an extra ten or twenty dollars we don't seem to have the luxury of spending just yet. I guess it'll just be one of those things I'll always plan to do, though I'll never know when. So yes, along with getting that new computer, asking for that raise, and taking down those Christmas lights, I can add this Internet thing too. But really, why not? What am I going to do in the next bit of my life that can't spare a few extra goals? Still, wishful thinking is one thing - busy-tones are completely another . . .
After enough attempts to dial, it stops doing it automatically - I had to re-click on the thing to get the other thing to start doing that thing again. It's strange in a way, as I recall this is the sort of stuff that causes people to go mad. If I couldn't get my brain away from the horrors of the dial-up, I might never survive another morning . . .
Recalling childhood experiences with vaccinations - more specifically the needle and the lollipop - I knew a diversion was in desperate demand . . .
I clicked back to the start-menu as the modem dialed again. Scrolling down the programs, I came upon the "games" file. Naturally, that seemed to be the most entertaining short-order area I could hope for; I went in. I actually took a small-yet-deep breath before I clicked again - the seven rows of cards flashed into view . . .
My eyes flew left and right across the screen as I started clicking. Slowly, red overlapped black and black went on top of red. As usual, the aces would reveal themselves and allow reason for minimal elation. Equally as usual, the big "X" signifying the end of the game revealed itself. My previous comments were wrong; ever-busy dial-ups didn't cause insanity - Vegas-rules, 3-card draw solitaire did . . .
I remember as a young child, sitting on a stool beside my mother in the big red office chair as she played the cursed game. I had always known her to be able to not let trivial things get the better of her - solitaire was another deal altogether. I remember I would watch her click at a furious pace as the cards would fly back and forth from the draw pile to the top-right corner of the bland green screen. It was truly a sight to see; if I were anyone else, I don't think I could have handled sitting there in that uncomfortable little stool . . .
Watching my mother play was almost hypnotic, in a way. As she sent the cards in all directions, I'd be watching intently. In a way, I only truly understood how the game worked after watching my mom go through games at sub-minute speeds. I started thinking about her moves before her hand would process them. I could see where every move came from, and where every move would go. I could never understand where the time would go, though . . .
The especially brutal aspect of that game was the scoring, however. I had no doubt in my mother's abilities for that game, and yet her score would always plummet well into the negative thousands - all in monetary values, of course. There wasn't anything one could do about that. Either you didn't play and got bored or you'd play and keep losing. Still, the persistence she'd show in playing that game for all it was worth was astounding . . .
Even that game could only be so severe, however, and the mother would win a few games. I would always smile when all the cards were revealed and the extra-frantic clicking would ensue, my mother whispering a shout of pride. In a way, that game kind of reflected life. Despite all hardships, and all losses, one must continue to strive for victory. It was the story of the world - never give up; the willing spirit can achieve anything; odds are never constant. I never expected anything less of my mother . . .
Now, the role of the stubborn solitaire-player has passed to me. Other than having to remember to change the songs after they'd finish, my mind would be completely focused on the game. Now and then the clicks of the mouse would coincide with the beats of the music. Other times the whistling would take over and match the tune. The amount of immersion was incredible. It was times like this I sometimes forgot my original purpose of logging onto the Internet . . .
As time went on, my eyes went out of focus. Not that they were straining to watch the screen (though they were beginning to), but more so I could see all the cards all at once. Focused on nothing, the game would sometimes seem to go faster. Perhaps that was because with my lack of focus I missed things and therefore lost quicker, but either way I was kept busy . . .
It came to this point that I had an interesting thought. True, there was no logic in this whatsoever, but in its own little way it made sense. Since I started playing solitaire, I hadn't won once for the entire hour. In the spirit of blowing on the dice, I had the intense desire to win a game. It seemed to me that if I could get the little animation of all the cards bouncing off the screen, then and only then would I be able - no, allowed - to connect to my horrid, horrid server . . .
With my illogical reasoning firmly set, I looked through the archive of music. I immediately picked out all the songs of persuasive, inspirational, and motivational value. Setting them into a worthwhile playlist, I went back to my game - my score about five hundred dollars in the hole. With renewed vigour, I began clicking on the electron-projected cards. The music changed my train of thought completely. I increasingly had more and more determination to win a game of cards. With the fanfares blaring, I would succeed . . .
The interesting thing about that music was that after I started using it, I was getting increasingly closer to winning a game. True, I still wasn't, but I was definitely getting close. I was constantly clearing out nearly all of the hidden piles under the cards; I was continuously uncovering all four aces; I would have the finished piles stacked up to the fives and sixes before getting blocked off. Still, the game would manage to find a way to make me lose . . .
I could still feel victory inches away from my grasp. Any moment I was going to do it. I slow half-grin crept onto the right side of my mouth as I clicked the mouse rapidly. I found my left hand bouncing on the desk in conjunction with the music as my right once was on the mouse button. The feeling of near-complete contentment was rather interesting. Even the few mistakes in choosing which card to pick were easily ignored and forgotten. I knew conquest was soon to come . . .
Going well into the second hour of playing, the elusive triumph was still at large. Frustration was easily finding its way into me - both for the blighted card game and for the unforgiving dial-up modem. I came to understand one thing all too clearly: the cable modem was a necessity. I didn't care how much it cost, or whether there was a deal for free hook-up or anything - anything had to be better than this . . .
I found the "motivational" music somewhat lacking, so I killed it. I was no longer in the mood for heroics; I needed salvation. I searched through the instrumental pieces I had downloaded, and found the most emotional file I could find. Mind you it wasn't full of happiness, or sadness - it wasn't filled with love or hatred either. It was simply emotion, pure and simple. I refocused my eyes, and they narrowed onto the cards . . .
The fluid clicking of before was replaced with cold, calculated sharpshooting. I thought over every maneuver I made twice before putting them through. Reminiscent of the fabled sniper battle between Vassili Zaitsev and the German Major, I slowly planned and re-planned everything I did - everything I thought. Every click was like a discharged bullet. I was going to beat this game tonight . . .
If I were a child, I was sure I'd be crying by now. The concept of defeat from all ends is one few people enjoy thinking about. In yet another stolen victory, I was blocked by the large red "X" and forced to re-draw the deck . . .
As the new game unfolded, I was presented with two aces out front. I greedily stole them into the stockpiles at the top of the screen. The rest was simple clean up. Finally, the triads of cards were shuffling out - some useful, others just loitering around to taunt me. The columns slowly took shape, goals within sub-goals being completed. A tactful memory served me well before I made an unforgivable mistake. Likewise, a keen mind found a way through interesting puzzles. After two complete cycles through the deck, the entire screen of cards was uncovered. I allowed myself no revels until I was double clicking like a madman . . .
I watched the cards bounce off the game screen contently, a smile of satisfaction enveloping what was once a pessimistic-yet-determined visage. I leaned back in the computer chair, watching the cards go, remembering to breath all the while. Of course, nothing else happened. True, the game was now asking me if I wanted to deal the cards again, but other than that I was still sitting there, waiting for the modem to connect . . .
After playing through a few more instrumental songs, I cancelled the connection and turned off the computer. It was late, and I probably had work the next day. I had better things to worry about for the time being. I shall still have to organize Internet-on-cable for myself, but that can wait until tomorrow (when I shall most definitely make the call). In the meantime, I was very content to just go to sleep. In this personal vendetta, the battle may not have ended, but nevertheless I still managed to kill my sniper.
