About that Worm

Or maybe it's a virus. Hard to say.

My husband spent all evening Friday and all day Saturday trying to kill it. It wouldn't be killed. By Sunday he had to admit that some fiend on the other side of the disease was smarter (or at least more devious) than he was. Thank god--for the more devious part.

Now, right now: my laptop is being wiped clean of its infirmaties and much of its memory. Not unlike what the psychiatrist probably hoped for when he ordered that electroshock therapy for my mother back in '59.

Clear. Hit it. Erase.

There, now: no more depression. No more disturbance. Adjustment.

Well. That didn't work.

But computers aren't brains, however often certain professionals insist on the analogy. Brains are connected to souls somehow, I think. And her soul refused to let go of its memory of infection.

Dawn Marano