“Really?” I snapped at my beloved Mac. “You have got to be kidding me. No, seriously, this is so not the time for you to be messing with me.”
But is there ever a good time to lose one’s connection to the outside world? I think not.
Despite yelling, threatening, begging, still the words YOU ARE NOT CONNECTED TO THE INTERNET burned into my retinas. I considered a down and out temper-tantrum, wasn’t above throwing myself onto the ground and pounding the floor while screaming, kind of like a terrible two. I’m not proud of this, but there it is.
“P-l-e-a-s-e,” I whined. “I’m in the middle of running a Dog Gone and Buck Fever give-away,” I explained to my stubborn Mac. “And I have a manuscript to finish, emails to respond to. Seriously, if I don’t tweet, I might die. #Kidlitchat is on Twitter in only three minutes!”
“Rats,” I snarled. Okay, maybe I uttered more than one word. Maybe those words were not as politically correct as “rats,” and flamboyantly more colorful. Maybe my husband did say that I had a potty mouth. Let’s just chalk it all off to “venting.” But I digress.
The point is this: As I spent hours with the very patient cable company customer service folks and Mac helpers (all lovely, I might add) I came to the very real and very harsh realization that I am a total slave to the Internet. There, I said it. Maybe that’s the first step in recovery…
And then again, maybe not. Who am I kidding? I’m a writer. The Internet is my connection to the world. *She sighs with a sense of acceptance.*
As it turns out, I had to apologize to my beloved Mac. Because the router was the problem. May it rest in peace.