Down Time

Well, it's 10:46 pm here in Milford, and I'm sitting in the computer room of my parents' house, catching up on emails and typing here because, as you may or may not know from my recent podcast, I don't have internet at my house.

Normally, the absence of the world wide web in my home doesn't bother me. I'm at work more than I'm home, so it makes sense that I would do all things internet-related in the down time of my work day. Sure, I get my work done: I'm productive, pleasant, and hard-working, but once my projects are finished, it's blog-hopping time.

Apparently, I spoke too soon in the podcast when I said I'd continue blogging "as long as I have internet access," because I was given some devastating news recently. Someone, somewhere within my bank clicked on an "inappropriate" website recently, resulting in the confiscation of her address book, which resulted in a slew of lewd and pornographic junk mail thorughout the bank. This epidemic has caused the president of the bank to crack down on all email and internet use at work. He has advised us via email, ironically, that our email and internet use will be monitored from this point forward, and anyone using his or her computer for purposes other than business will face disciplinary action and/or termination. To which I say "Woah, man! Lighten up!" But he's the president, and I'm just a lowly assistant, so what I have to say doesn't really count for much.

Three months ago, I would've said "Bah! Who cares?! Internet-Schminternet." But now things have changed: I have this wonderful space into which I can pour my thoughts, words and feelings. I get comments. I feel like I'm part of a circle of bloggers. I feel good reading other people's blogs, as well as when I write on my own. And now, I can't. Until I get an internet connection at home, I'm stuck playing Spider Solitare and wondering what NJ has been saying on his blog, what Tumbleweed is up to, what Scoot's rambling about, what dirtly little secrets Melina has to share, what cute story Bry is going to tell, and what Brian will say today. I'm left without the little peephole through which I get to view other bloggers, all with their own distinct personalities and senses of humor. And, selfishly, even worse than that: I won't be able to post. This truly breaks my heart. As I've said before, I believe that writing here keeps me sane: Something about writing it out where there's a chance someone else will see it feels like liberation.

But, as of today, I will be stuck in an internet-free prison, forced to post only when I visit Ma and Pa. Until, that is, I get around to talking to my roommate/landlord about internet at the house.