The Day the Internet Died – Los Alamos Reporter


BY SALLY E. FOSTER
Los Alamos

Dear Diary,

I’m on what feels like day 56 without internet, but it’s only been like 4 hours. Time passes slowly, but how do you measure time if not by the episodes of Grey’s Anatomy broadcast on Netflix? What is time again?

I built a library that I intended to sit in its box for several weeks. I think I finished it in about an episode of Grey’s – which is, I think, 45 (?) minutes in non-internet time. I’m proud to have built it, but this box had become my only companion during those dark times. Now I am so alone. I walked around my house trying to find the best cell phone signal so I could check Keep it Local and see who else was complaining about not having internet. I considered leaving the house to wander the parking lot listlessly in my rain poncho with my cell phone raised to the sky, but ultimately decided against pants. I moved twice from my office chair to my couch. I checked the fridge four times. Nothing ever changes, and it’s so painful.

“Hahaha! What a silly, fun life,” I say to myself in the mirror, pretending to smile as tears stream down my face. “It’s all good and well. Ha, ha. Ha!” I just can’t survive a moment longer. I’d rather wait in line at Smith’s Pharmacy than not have internet for another minute. I’d rather get a wrong order at McDonald’s or see the county trails closed again… I’d rather be run over by a wild cow, near the stables – the sweet smell of dung wafting through the air. I would rather the old hotel stay decrepit and standing forever, with yellow duct tape. I would pay $0.50/gal more at a gas station here than those morons down the hill just so I could refresh my Reddit homepage. I would rent my apartment at the lab (paid) as an “office” (no internet included) and sleep in my car in the mountains of Jemez. I prefer Time Out to reopen and then close just when I’m about to place an order. I prefer to decorate my garden with bags filled with dog poop that someone else refused to throw away. Damn, I’d rather be chased by Sirphey than have to endure another moment of this internetless hell.

That’s all for now, diary. I will paint this message on the rock. Xoxo, Sally “Out of State Agitator” Foster

PS This journal entry took me what would have been about 1/5 of an episode of Grey’s to write, or 9 minutes in non-internet time. For registration.

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