The internet and its device, my computer, are the nerve center of my life.
It’s my telephone, my typewriter, my television.
My news source, my megaphone, my playground, my water cooler, my entertainment.
My memory box, social calendar, diary, scratch pad.
The amassed accoutrements of previous decades, worth their weight in paper, yet invisible outside the small 11-inch screen of glass, pixels and light.
Shutting it off means forgetting all that lies behind it, within it, and beyond its small frame. It’s my window to the world. My portal, my telescope and camera. My travel book. I collect and store things for safekeeping. I browse, I shop, I purchase, I decide. It empowers me. Text, images and videos educate, disturb, scare and delight me. How is it possible that this all can funnel so swiftly to my eyes and ears, with ease?
How is it that by facing this device, I face the world?
Does it watch me? It feels my fingers pressing and prodding its keys one at a time. Furiously and softly all at once. Click, tap, tap tap, click. Inanimate object, or dutiful accomplice?
As we mirror computers after humans, whom do they seek? Are they merely just extensions of physical beings, of the human experience?
If we quit them, they wither and die. Life shuts down for both of us.