(Please note that the following is satire. I'm not really that addicted. Really. I'm not. I'm just trying to be funny. Really. I'm not that addicted. Really.)
We're addicted to the internet. If we had any doubts, the doubts were disspelled on Sunday and Monday, when we had to live without it for awhile. It's a pathetic thing to have it thrown so cruelly in your face, but you know you're addicted when:
* You pass the computer and note sadly that there is still only one light blinking on the modem. You sigh.
*You tell the children to stop making such an issue of this. The internet, after all, is an incredible, miraculous, ridiculous luxury that no Christian should ever expect, for goodness sakes, or take for granted, though we're allowed to thoroughly enjoy it, of course, provided we keep it in its proper perspective. You realize that you are (of course) lecturing yourself as much as the children.
*You call the cable office even though you know no one will be there on a Sunday. You get the answering service. They give you an 800 number. You call it, even though you have just contributed to someone else having to work on a Sunday. You want to kiss Charlie, the nice surfer-dude who walks you through three separate trouble-shooting procedures, sincerely doing his best to help you, as he really seems to feel your pain. You hang up after he mournfully tells you that all he can do is schedule you for a service call. You thank him, and will remember him in your prayers.
*You make up a reason to pass the computer and sneak a glance at the modem. Yup. Still just one light.
*You wonder what everyone else is blogging about today.
*You wonder if anyone misses you.
*You wonder if they're worried about you. Or are they thinking you're lazy? Or, maybe they understand that, since it's Sunday, and you don't usually blog much on Sunday, nothing's wrong.
*You feel bad that no one knows what's wrong.
*You pass the computer again. Even though only one light is blinking, you click on your browser. Just to torture yourself. You are, after all, an addict, and your existence is supposed to be pathetic.
*You wonder if something awful has happened to your blog in your absence. What if it got hacked and you're not there to know that? What if the new banner you just posted got corrupted somehow and your blog is displaying some horrendous image? What if your father was right when he told you, when you were eight years old, that you could "What if?" yourself to death?
*You tell Anne to stop being so dramatic about a day without internet. After she proposes her seventh "What if?" you tell her that she could "What if?" herself to death.
*You think of the seventeen other ways that you have turned into your parents.
*You pass the computer. I won't go into the ugly details.
*You sleep. You don't dream of the computer. See? You aren't really that addicted.
*Morning comes. You call the cable office, just to make sure that Charlie (love him though you do) got the service call scheduled. He did get the general message through. They schedule you for this morning.
*Later in the day, when internet service is back, you feel ridiculous about your level of joy at the sight of four solid, green lights on the modem. You try to act nonchalant in front of the children. Since you have nothing pressing to do, you might, oh, say, just check email. But that's all. And you won't be on long. You chide the children: "Was it really that bad to be without the internet for a short time? I knew we'd live through it." You turn back to the screen, and just read a couple of blogs before signing off.
*See? You're not really that addicted. You knew you could live without it all along.