Staring Death In Its Stale Orange Eye

Dead in the water. Brighthouse Cable and Internet Service is down. My cable modem, a stale orange light. And I happen to be revising a flash back scene. What was the name of that street? Click. Doh! What are the nearest universities to Bowie, Maryland? Click. Son of a....!

And there it was, my moment. My evidence of predetermination. I have willed myself towards information technology, and, instead of metering my participation with it, have fully thrown myself into a dependency for the Internet.

I started obsessing over the deterministic properties of technology many moons ago after reading The Question Concerning Technology by Martin Heidegger, my favorite philosopher. You can tell he's my sage, as I'm constantly extolling the virtues of balancing information and communication technologies with natural sensory gratification. Hold a beer in your hand, not your smart phone camera, as you enjoy the sunset. Stuff like that.

But when the network went down at 1:32 pm on 28 May, and I bounced my hardware twice with four minute intervals for good measure, and it didn't come back up, I had that clamp in my chest that heralds that progenitor of melancholy, anxiety. Why this? Why now? Gasp, gasp, breathe!

I waited nine minutes, and bounced the hardware for a third time. No response. Call technical support.

A nice, young man who mumbles into his headset set up a service call for next day between 10am and noon. Having been a rescuer of large-scale servers over the phone, I know not to blame the issue with the technology on Mumbles. He is merely the conduit for resolution. Mumbles is not the solution provider. That person has to enter my home. That person better return the connection to this modem, a fresh one to install, or... Deep inhale. Deep exhale.

It's not that serious. People used to have encyclopedias in their houses with all the information they needed in a flip. I used to be one of them. This is not world ending. This does, however, derail my progress. This also derails my usual after editing routine, which is, jump on my Xbox, load up my shows and indulge in television theatrics. Or, I'd play a game to bring my synapses down from hyper-drive to regular speed firing. But that requires the Internet. Oh sweet mother of...!

I acknowledge I have become dependent on the Internet. I would like my current connection to work. I welcome a swift resolution. There are other sections of the story I can work on, sure. It's just that I'm systemic by nature and doing B before A and then C is very unsettling.

How about we read a book?

Wait a minute. I have a browser on my phone!

[Cue “We Are The Champions” by Queen]

Note: As of 10:32 am 29 May, service has been corrected and digital life is renewed. The issue? Whoever tampered with the box behind my building disconnected my service! Thanks. Really. THANKS.