I pulled out the first jewel case: . The professional blue branding felt like a relic from a more optimistic age. I remembered installing this on a beige tower, the whir of the CD-ROM drive sounding like a jet engine taking off. This was the era of Clippy—the well-meaning, wide-eyed paperclip who watched me struggle through my first high school essays. Back then, "The Cloud" was just something that ruined a Saturday, and every Save button felt like a heavy, permanent decision.
The cardboard box in the back of the garage didn't just contain software; it held the fossil record of a digital life. Microsoft Office Collection [2003,2007,2010,201...
As I reached the bottom of the stack, I saw the slim, minimalist cases for . The colors had flattened; the skeuomorphic shadows were gone. Everything was "Modern." These weren't just tools anymore; they were portals. By now, the software lived everywhere—on my phone, my tablet, my work PC. The documents were no longer trapped on spinning platters of plastic; they drifted in the ether, following me from room to room. I pulled out the first jewel case: