I am hopelessly addicted to the Internet. It is the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning and the last thing I do before I go to sleep. I cannot imagine ever having lived without it. It is my most important social, creative, recreational, and professional outlet. When my broadband connection goes down, I break into a nervous sweat. I will frantically search for my old serial modem and try to find a dial-up number. I will set up impractical and ultimately foolish connections to make sure I’m not missing it for that hour or less: cell phone to laptop to hub to desktop, neighbor’s wireless network to cantenna to access point to desktop. It is how I define myself: my website feels like an extension of me. When it goes down, for whatever reason, I check it repeatedly, hoping that it’ll be back, staring at the error messages—like a paralysis victim staring at his non-functioning body parts in a futile effort to awaken them once again. It is my definitive source for information: if I can’t find it on Google, it probably doesn’t exist. After being away for more then four hours, I begin to experience withdrawal symptoms. I get nervous. I feel lost. I worry. What could have happened that I don’t know about? Am I missing an important e-mail? Should I have just stayed home so I could be sure that the precious Internet wouldn’t disappear?
And you know what? Thinking about it makes me smile.