Thursday, May 2, 2013

phone is dead

Time line.

10:55 am ...surfing the net looking at cats, right up to the last minute before heading over to pick up Hansolo from school. Leave house 10:56 am

back to house at 11:07 am.

and the internet is down. I pick up phone. dead. I mean REEEEEAAAALLLLY DEAD.

What the?

pace, check. pace, check, reset router, pace, reset breaker for house, pace, check.

Resigned to my fate of being off line, and isolated and disconnected from humanity as a whole, and lacking any Valium to take, I start doing what one does when the internet is down. What I should be doing... like chores and stuff. I take the trash to the curb.

and that is when I see it.

the wire dangling from the power pole.

eyes scan back to where it should be connected to the house, and see the coiled other end resting quietly in the yard.

First thought in my writers mind of course is "IT'S BEEN CUT! we are all going to be killed by lunatics in our sleep because our true identities have been discovered. Call the feds your witness relocation status has been compromised!"

I have to slap my face to stop the writer in me. "Stop it. Keep it together woman, you are NOT in the witness relocation program! and ...wait a minute!! " I glance around. Our line is the only one down.

"Not only has it been cut, but you have been singled out." my writers mind continues ignoring me.

I can maintain control, until its fixed. I'm good. I can do this. The writer in me can spin all the yarns it wants, Just how bad can internet withdrawals really be?

I place the can on the curb and start back to the house. The neighbor waves at me.

Again my writers mind jumps "She knows you can't call 911! She's trying to stall you so they can install microphones in your house. "

Be QUIET! I hiss to it. Wait, microphones? why would anyone want to spy on me?

"They have been reading your blog."

Oh yes, fat toothless hairy legged bloggers are a high security risk for hooliganism. Oh dude! did you have to say blog? Now I want to blog! a thousand ideas flooding me and aching to be blogged. Writers bucket overflowing, awesome-coolness dripping ever where. wasted on dead silence and a stilled keyboard.

I  sit at the computer and pitifully stare at its corpse.

Oh my friend, such an untimely death. To die mid video of Maru.

I raise my eyebrows to weep...but first I again check the phone. Nope still dead.

Check my watch.

Time line.

4:30 pm.

Its been five hours and thirty-four minutes. I am going to get the bends, I just know it. Hmm,  better google the symptoms so I know when to call 911. My hands reach for the keyboard.

"Fool! the lines been cut!"

NOOOOO!!!! This is worse then any torture known to man!! leaving a writer alone with their mind and a mystery!


Phone line fixed. No yelling or cursing required, just a simple call to ask if those dangling wires in the yard are any danger to small children. (oh yes I know they arn't, but that writer in me knew the fastest two ways to get the phone company to fix it was to "endanger small children" or threaten to reconnect the lines myself hah!)  Planets aligned in perfect harmony. Net once again filling my veins with its addicting tentacles. heeeeaaavy sigh. Life is good.


  1. What? Cut off from exiting the Matrix all afternoon? How did you avoid Agent Smith?

    1. Not the afternoon. It was down for TWENTY. FOUR. HOURS. *twitch* I think I have recovered. I used to wonder how Jack B. did all that stuff in 24 hrs. Now I know - 24 hours = an eternity.