My name is Hilary and I'm an internolic.
Breathe. . . .
Breathe. . . .
Things are spiralling out of control now I'm planning my life around my next 'net fix'.
At lunch time I agonize with one eye on the screen as Stephen strums each guitar chord. (He's trying to drive me mad with his repetitive sequence of chords - but that's another entry.) I crouch ready to leap onto the keyboard as soon as he's left to return to work; what's happened to Higgins? has the Eiffel Tower paint contractor emailed again? will my 'lover' reveal his true identity?
Do I want him to?
I feel powerless to this addiction that has drawn me down.
I'm in a mercyless cycle of a couple of hours sleep at night, then skulking back to the living room for a couple of hours trawling the internet followed by lying in bed, waiting for sleep again with the next blog entry racing through my mind like tickertape.
It all started so innocently.
I was a typist by trade. I could reach speeds of up to 80 words per minute!
The letters were all there . . . just not necessarily in the right order! (I thank you Mr. Morecambe.)
I believed the typewriter was the one true way to write any message or missive.
"I can't do that!." was my battle cry each time the family tried to envagle me into the intricacies of the computer.
So, to get the buggers off my back I began with emails, no more, no less.
Just a tap of the forefinger and I was posting those emails, reading others and before I knew it I was on the Internet !
Surfing, searching, checking, shopping with just the effort of one finger.
"Oh, you can't break the computer !" they said but I managed it, several times!
Each time they just got it repaired; a couple of days in the shop. They even found 'The Tech Guys', who will fix it as you sit at home in front of the darned thing ! There was no escape.
Now, Stephen and I have become one with the machine. Each Saturday morning, Thomas, poor lad, has a breakfast date with . . .
the grandparents in the laptop ! ! !
He's not yet two but already knows how to close the lid on us!
Snap ! and we're gone !
His father and aunties have been struggling with this maneouvre for years !
Exhausted, blinded, bankrupted, humiliated and vapourised, I need help.
I know I'm in for a long slow climb before I can be rehabilitated; returned as a fully functioning member to the bossom of my family, where I can sue the pants off the buggers who got me started in the first place !
FREE THE WHITE ROCK CITY ONE !
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Oh dear Hilary, you've got it bad...I feel guilty now because I haven't done a Higgins post for days. (Don't worry, he's fine) now calm down, step awy from the keyboard and find that knitting. Penny x
ReplyDeleteDid you see Brenda Dayne from Cast-on on the 4th plinth on Saturday? There's a video of it on the 4th plinth project site I think it's www.oneandother.co.uk. Listening to her podcasts has kept me sane . . . ish!
ReplyDeleteIf you know of any other British knitting podcasts I'd be really interested. I've spent the summer typing in anything and everything trying to find something to listen to as I knit. As Brenda puts, a knitsib. Cast-on was the only one.
Bet Higgers is growing already, time flies at that age.
Hilary x
Don't worry, Hilary -- I'm sure you can find an on-line therapy group somewhere:)
ReplyDeleteFailing that, perhaps dogs can be transported by e-mail.
Now there's a thought Thomas !
ReplyDeletePenny ! Please can I walk Higgins through the ether ? ! I'll remember a poopy bag, I like to think I'm a cyber responsible person.
We'll be back in an hour !