It kind of looks like it wants to go into the light, doesn't it? The vacuum cleaner, I mean. It's like it's staring longingly out the window into whatever's beyond, with nothing but the power cord and me to get in its way. I wonder: if it felt anything, would it be happy that it was sucking up dirt and crap all the time? Does it ache for an open field or a dead-end job or a vacuum cleaner wife?

I don't buy the argument that something would be happy fulfilling the purpose it was created for. I got a Creator who wants me to be a missionary and two other creators who want me to be a doctor. I wouldn't be satisfied as either. No, I'm perfectly happy to putz around an apartment complex, pondering the psychology of the inanimate.

Just for fun I kick out the power cord. “It's alright, you can go,” I whisper. “It's fine.” It doesn't move, probably out of fear.