Today I waited for 7 minutes for Facebook to fail to load. 7 minutes! The whole time, I must've gritted my teeth, contributing to the sore muscle on the right side of my jaw. I can feel it there, like a plum pit sized knot.
I fantasize about the days when we didn't have computers that automatically downloaded stuff, and slowly, agonizingly, again and again scanned themselves for viruses, sucking out all the energy from the processor and myself. I think fondly about those years when I typed up my poems on Grandpa Mac's old smelly electric typewriter, still smelling of his cheap cigars, or when I handwrote the first drafts of my ridiculously benign and banal literary analyses on notebook paper.
If I couldn't have access to all of my friends back home and variously scattered around the world, I wouldn't miss it. I wouldn't gnash my teeth over it as I struggle to make it happen. I wouldn't drop out with the Skype call, or glower over gmail's failure to load.