Today's sponsor is Captain Obvious.
Ten days ago, the darling little silver laptop on which I type died a tragic and sudden death. There was, as there often is, the Blue Screen of Death as well as some low-tech Beeps of Terror, which were all set to a pulsing backbeat of my husband's Swearing of Profanities.
We chalked it up to fate. The poor thing was almost six years old, and while it was beyond top-of-the-line at it's inception, times had changed and subtle new technologies had left us in the dust. It didn't help that we were also running a illegitimate version of Windows, which never allowed us any updates or additional virus protection; so really it's a wonder the poor thing had made it that long.
Suddenly, at about 8pm that fateful Saturday evening, I learned of laptop's death, and found out I would be rendered completely internet-less for all but an hour or so a day.
Internet-less. (noun) \ˈin-tər-ˌnet-ˈles\ 1. being without internet 2. being utterly devoid of access to email, social networking, and online shopping, with the inability to randomly find out the answer to any question instantly on Google, such as "what substitutes eggs in cookie recipe" and "red spot on breast."
Oh Lordy. Whattodo?!?
Well here's where our handy, dandy sponsor, CAPTAIN OBVIOUS, comes in to deliver his message.
The Internet is certainly handy, but is 90% time-killing garbage.
I suddenly had SOOO MUUUUCCHHH TIIIIIIME. So. Much. Sickening amounts of time. Time to play with my daughter. Time to cook meals ahead of time. Time to sit on the couch and watch a show about Tibet while drinking a coffee. Time to unpack long forgotten boxes from our June move. Time to consider painting rooms, and, once the colors are decided, time to actually paint them. Time to spontaneously decide to rake the lawn, or chase the kid around the lawn, or chase the kid around the lawn with a rake. Egads!
Two evenings into my internet-less existence, I logged onto Facebook and felt like I was walking through a once-familiar neighborhood, where everyone I once knew had moved away. No witty status came to mind. No biting retorts, no virtual thumbs-ups. I did not, in fact, care that Dawn wished us all a happy Tuesday, or that Ann's FedEx package had failed to show up. I did not even click to "see more."
Sure, there were a couple of times during the day that I wished I could instantly ameliorate some morbid curiosity via Google, or when I became curious as to whether the car payment had gone through. But you know what I did?
I WROTE MYSELF A NOTE. And I looked it up later that evening when the hubba relinquished control of his work computer. Or just forgot entirely, because it was, really, exactly. that. important.
