It is strange how dependent you can become on something, and when you are denied that which you are dependent on – you end up lying on the carpet chewing on the fringe raging about the denial. I haven’t had the internet for almost two full days, and let me tell you that this is not a fun thing to experience.
While my father, apparently, has made me into a bill neurotic who lies awake at night worrying about paying the bills, that didn’t stop the internet bill from lapsing – and yesterday morning Mark and I woke up to find that the internet was dead.
We searched high and low for a technical answer to the problem, and then pestered about half a dozen support personnel before one of them basically said, “Look, just pay the fricking bill, okay!? STOP CALLING US!’ Okay, that may be an exaggeration. A slight one. I think.
This does no good for the billophobia that dad has implanted in me, but when the interwebs were turned back on for us at around six this evening, it was a sweet thing. And it allowed for reflection and consideration about how flipping dependent Mark and I are on a functional internet.
It makes us not cringe, for one thing, when the teachers during revision classes tell us to log into the school intranet and download things from home. Now we don’t have to shamefaced, as if admitting to an embarrassing disease, raise our hands and acknowledge being without internet.