I’m angry at the Internet today. Not frustrated, not irked, but pissed. As in, if I had a bazooka at my disposal…
It hadn’t occurred to me before, but now I get it: They call it the “web” because that’s exactly what it is. One giant, sticky spider web. I hear the cautionary voice echo in my head, “Don’t go there, Mr. Frodo!”
Moments later, I’ve convinced myself, after checking on just one thing, I’ll close the browser. I absolutely will not stay online. I’ll skirt around the edges, just for a few minutes, but there’s no way the web is going to ensnare me today because I’m totally hip to its tricks.
So, I open the browser window, promising…no…reciting a solemn vow: I will not spend more than five minutes doing what I have to do.
Hit and run.
I’ll sign in, click twice, then hit the big X on the nose and leave it bleeding. That’s the plan. And, by God, it’s written in stone because I need to close out the chapter I’ve been grueling over for the past week. It should be in the box by now. What happened? That freakin’ spider web.
Four hours later, I’m wondering who drank my tea, why I have to urinate so badly, and who the hell sneaked in here to eat a whole box of Boston creams? It couldn’t have been me. I’m starving.
Once again, I have failed. My body is so thick with spider spit, I’ll have to spend a month in the shower just to dissolve the goo.
Somehow I managed to close the browser, but not before the fly caught in the silk beside me expelled a single word with its last breath. I tried to pretend I didn’t hear it, but it’s repeating in my mind as clear as diamond on vinyl, “Sucker.”