Plug Me In, Please? Much Obliged

For the past few days, I’ve been unable to connect to the internet.  A virus invaded my computer and caused quite a stir, to say the least.  With the addition of a new anti-spyware program to my defense, it was ousted, but not without leaving a bit of damage behind, mostly to my firewall.  Nothing too traumatic, only irritating—it will probably be cleared up as soon as I can get someone wiser than I to take a look. 

I’ve been trying to take it in stride.  After all, I tell myself, it’s not such a terrible thing.  I lived through a very happy childhood without constant access to the internet.  Perhaps it’s a sign from God, I told my father facetiously, that I should be working on my thesis.  And yet it’s niggling in the back of my mind even now, the fact that I am unable to dive into this ocean of information at whim.  No games, no manga, no facebook—horror upon horrors.  More seriously, no email or blog (I am posting this tonight via another, more functional computer), no research for my classes or for my work assignment. I cannot look up a new name for the most recent character to appear in my novel, or search for the definition which I need confirmed.  I can’t even google “internet”, as I thought of doing only moments ago.

It’s astonishing how data-infused our lives have become.  The internet as we know it is younger than I am: though wide-reaching networks existed in the eighties, public access to the “world wide web” required a browser, which didn’t appear until 1994.  And now, less than twenty years later, society is unrecognizable.  Phrases coined by the web community are in common usage, phrases like “google it”, “Skype me”, “facebook stalking”, etc.  Business is conducted over the internet with Skype meetings, documents sent by means of Dropbox, and email the primary means of communication.  Every single small device we use for other purposes—phones, iPods, even cameras and printers, I believe—now often will have a connection to the internet as well.  The web of information has entangled us all.

I’ve prided myself in the past on not being quite as “plugged in” as everyone around me.  My phone only makes calls; my iPod only plays music.  In the past I have been capable of turning my computer off well before bedtime and sitting up for a while with a book.  (Read: an actual book with paper pages and a board cover, not an e-reader.)  And yet being unable to access the internet has left me rather forlorn.  I feel lonely, at odds with myself and having difficulty thinking of something to do.  I worry ridiculously that something important will come up on facebook or email, and I will offend someone by not having checked either more than once in the past twenty-four hours.

It’s funny to me, and a bit troubling.  We’ve all become psychological cyborgs, dependent on our power sources.  Now, I’m certainly not saying anything against the internet—I’ll be overjoyed to have it back when my computer difficulties are solved.  I just can’t help thinking about that old “too much of a good thing” saying.