aWalrus's Journal: The perfect compile

It somehow feels right; sitting here at work late into the night, long after lights-off. Having the whole place to myself provides an excellent opportunity to put on the headphones and indulge in energetic ghost Orchestra direction -- which the guards on the other side of the security cameras most likely find a welcome respite from nasal exploration watch.

I finish the code, take a good, tentatively proud look at the subroutines and upload the whole thing. As I submit the program and keep hitting <enter> to refresh the screen, I wonder if this will be the magic one. The compiler coughs up, sputters and throws a veritable barrage of warnings and two or three severe errors. The perfect compile is still somewhere in the future. Lurking. Awaiting me. Mocking me.

As I recode -- pausing momentarily to break into full-on Director mode or coordinate a particularly difficult tenor clef Solo by the cellist -- I wonder if it will come tomorrow.

I start planning meetings and setting personal deadlines. The calendar sheepishly points out that it's only five days to Valentine's. Automatically, the mind slips into generic-ex-girlfriend mode (all of which have had trouble with her -- the machine -- at some point or another).

- "You can't honestly be serious."

- "Oh, but I am. Just imagine: No warnings. No errors. No weird return codes. Just the goods. Very very clean. And of course, it would run perfectly after that."

- "So it's... what? orgasmic?"

- "I think it would be more like very, very good foreplay."

- "There's no way in hell compiler output can be likened to sexual intercourse."

- "Ahh... Then, honey, you're not doing it right."