It is now almost 72 hours since the Great Darkening. I worry that each passing minute leads me closer and closer to madness. I feel adrift, lost, completely aimless. I fear I may not make it to the end of this so-called “service-outage.”
I remember it, though, the internet. Vaguely, almost like a dream. I remember inside jokes on Twitter which must now be hundreds of minutes old. Their meanings are surely lost to the cruel passing of time. I wonder if I could even communicate with those people anymore. How much the outside world must have changed!
I have been impotently cursing Time-Warner Cable for a solid 24 hours now. They are the tormentors who have constructed this invisible prison. It’s all getting so hazy. I remember the cats. How long has it been since I’ve seen a picture of a cat? Or a blurry picture with an inspirational quote on it? Am I to never read another list of the 31 ways peanut butter is like the 1980s, or to revel in the delight of being called a faggot for having a different opinion about a YouTube video? What kind of a life is this?
Mostly, though, I just miss the porn. How did people live like this for so long?
Yours in isolation,