Back-y, sort of

It is quite cruel, really, to give a Net-starved girl a fleeting glimpse of her much-longed-for Paradise of (all)sorts, only to tether her at its gates. Broadband is beauteous and bountiful, or is supposed to be – I briefly rejoiced at my reconnection to what sometimes feels more real than the “real world” on Saturday, only to find that I couldn’t log on to anything, not e-mail, or MSN; all I could do was flit in silence through chattering, crowded columns, pools of words, sweet-thick like water when you’re really, really thirsty.

But it’s back now, and we shall say no more because *hushed whisper* it may sulk.

On a smaller, more personally petulant note – Boyfriend will not let me paint all the furniture orange. Black depresses me, but it is apparently “practical” and doesn’t “clash”, and of course that makes it fine.

I shall (have, in fact, already begun to) sulk.

My excuse

Life without the Internet constricts me in ways I didn’t know it could – I find I’ve forgotten how to determine what to wear without my daily weather forecast, not trusting my tingled toes as I stand, shivering drippily in a towel on the balcony of my apartment. Newspapers were thick, finger-staining chunks of beloved words, now inconvenient in their bulkiness and the way they fall apart when carelessly grasped at the spines.

I find myself suspended now above the shifting water-vapour-bits-and-bytes of cyberspace, shoals of silvered data streaming past without me even realizing. My thoughts fall through the wide bars of my memory, like plankton, unwritten, and quickly lost.

The ‘Net is my net, my catch is the world, and I am missing it, terribly.