My password was about to expire. I've been told this by a personal computer in no uncertain terms. It has been made more than clear to me - more than clear to me - that I am expected to choose a new one.
I thought about what it should be. It had to be memorable, have a mix of capital and lower-case letters, with maybe the odd numeric thrown in. It had to say something about me. Something positive, yet something no-one else would consider about my character if they looked at me hidden underneath this thick thick jumper. It had to have a beginning middle and an end, a driving narrative, a startling beginning and a devastating twist at the end repeated again and again in an infinite line of be-straggled asterisks.
Any missed detail, how ever slight, would leave me open to a savage and violent attack. My account hacked, my Spotify T’Pau Hidden Gems playlist published on social-media, printed on posters, displayed on billboards, read out on American talkshows.
I clicked to change. First I must type the old password, the useless empty passages and cod-philosophy. The mis-guided attempts at humour when everyone else just wanted to have their moments of grief. I victoriously thrusted my index finger down to “Enter” with firmness and finality, knowing I will never have to type, to think, to inhabit such feelings again.
And now the new password:
“Maybe I was wrong….” I started.
Comments