CODE RED! CODE RED!

A Day Without Internet is Like a Day Without Oxygen

But I can still draw enough breath to be bitchy

Photo by Elisa Ventur on Unsplash

I can’t get online. I’ve reset the router. I’ve restarted my laptop. And still, nothing.

Without Internet access, I can’t get to Thesaurus.com. And without Thesaurus.com, I get writing constipation.

I mean, what if I need to find different ways of saying “illuminate,” for example? As in, please, fucking technology, fucking illuminate me as to why you’re not working?

Or maybe I need options for the word “furious,” which I am. At the lack of Internet. And I’m not just furious, I’m enraged.

Take that, fucking technology. I can be my own Thesaurus!

Oh, for God’s sake. Why did I put Grammarly on my laptop? It’s highlighting my curses.

“This language may be offensive to your readers.” If it’s offensive to my readers, then they’re not my readers.

My readers expect me to curse. And rant. Especially if I’m dealing with a situation as random and frustrating, as the inability to connect to the Internet.

I hate you Internet!

I hate you, too, Al Gore. You invented the Internet, so this is YOUR fault!

I should wake up my husband and ask him for help. But I don’t want to. I should be able to do this! Plus he’s sleeping so peacefully, and he looks so cute. All warm and snuggly in dreamland. Slumbering away without any knowledge of what awaits him.

A wife with steam coming out of her ears.

A wife who’s plotting to hurt Al Gore. Badly. If she can find him. But she can’t. Why?

Because she has no Internet!

I tiptoe to the bed. Come in close to give him a kiss. Can he feel the steam streaming from my ears? Does he think he’s sleeping in a sauna? Why doesn’t he feel the steam?!?

Wake up, dammit! We have no Internet! I can’t function like this!

Code Red! Code Red!

I give him a quick kiss and back away.

He opens one eye.