a third world summer

For most of the summer you'll have to pretend that I'm sitting next to you (you know, all sidled-up and friendly like) because mi casa is not like su casa, mi is internet-less.

Whoa.

I've lived with the internet as my bedmate since Al Gore invented it.

The internet walked out the door sometime the morning of May 4. I have missed it, but not in the ways that I expected. I'm not feeling deprived of musica (although my iTunes has been "application not responding" for two weeks), nor do I worry about email or the trendy ol' facebook, I miss having a web of recipes and food blogs at my fingertips. And I can't google what time businesses close or where to buy glycerine (petrolium jelly does not cut it).

In the evening before I fill my brain with unconsciousness and I wrap myself up my cozy blankets (despite the summer heat my camarade de basement bedroom and I are contemplating acquiring a space heater from someone.We seem to be inhabiting the southern hemisphere) I find my fingers scratching at the air aching for some typing, some clicking, some internet reading. Today, since I'm obsessed with documentary production meetings and had to be on campus at 8am, I started my plan for coping by picking up a New York Times to devour tonight. Less clicking and tapping, but still a wide wonder of delights.

Hopefully, though your favorite blog in the [pick your favorite prefix]-iverse will be less posted, my posties will be more toasty. Thoughts more thought through and grammar more grammared.

[sigh] Don't worry, kids, sometimes I even annoy myself with my incessent playing with words.

Love you all,
Marge