Cutting the Cord

Today, in about 4 hours, I will chop off my right arm.

Or, so it will seem.

What I mean is that I will give up my trusty laptop, the one missing the "eight" key (but will still obey my command to produce an 8 when needed--good boy), the one with the sticky mouse pad and the odd whirring noise. I will give it up for God Knows How Long to the people at Best Buy with whom we have our service agreement for only 30 more days.

Before you feel too badly for me, there is a regular computer upstairs (I think it's known as a "desktop", and not "the unmovable" as I call it). But, while I can spend the wee hours of the morning or late hours of night in our office with the unmovable, our daily living takes place on the first floor.

Oh! I just gasped in realization that I will not be able to Twitter tonight in front of the television during the VP debates. The humor I will miss from my Twitter friends and complete strangers. . .

To say I'm an internet addict is a bit mild. I'm not only an addict, I regard anyone who isn't an addict with a bit of suspicion. When someone tells me they never use the internet, go weeks without checking email, have never shopped online because "someone else will have my credit card number", I react the same way I would if someone told me they live without electricity or indoor plumbing. Why?

This is not a new condition. Way back in '94, I had a co-worker who said that my answer to any question that I didn't know was a cheerful, "Let's go check the internet!"

There is one condition to me dropping this laptop off, though. They must, absolutely must, promise to have it back to me before I leave for BlogHer Boston next weekend. Because if there is one place where my obsession with all things "dot com" will be understood and welcomed, it will be there.

I can't wait.