My Short Circuit

I wrote this back in 2009 which explains my constant reference to MySpace. This was also written before I got a smart phone and before the existence of streaming services. I’m sharing because I find that it relates both directly and ironically to the themes of my blog; relationships and reality. 

 My Short Circuit

I’ve just spent about 2 months living with the bear minimum use of a computer. My laptop gave out when a tear in the cable sent mixed voltage signals into the logics board and I guess caused some kind of short circuit. Anyway, about a month ago a friend offered to try to fix it for me and while he’s been working on it in his spear time, I’ve been loosing my mind.

I’m alternating between a borrowed laptop; that I can’t go online with, my roommates computer; that I borrow to go online, and public computers; usually only available during office hours. Let’s just say that during these last few weeks, I have been increasingly suffering from mixed voltage signals in to my logics board, and it has definitely caused some kind of short circuit.

For me, it all started before I borrowed my friend’s laptop. I had grown accustomed to running to the computer when I had something to say and typing it into my journal entitled “To Myself”. If ever I found myself feeling something I couldn’t contain, I spilled it into the keyboard in a form of ruffled words mixed in with a few shits, fucks and what-the-hells, in an attempt to make sense of my emotions. Often times this attempt would come out in rhymes that some people would call poems, but I call them therapy. The point is, when reaching my boiling point I found myself running to an empty desk.

For a moment, I considered writing with a pen. But then I knew my thoughts would come way to fast for my hand to keep up, not to mention I wouldn’t be able to read my own handwriting on a dark and stormy night when I felt the need to over-analyze myself. I tried listening to music, but something inside me just couldn’t come out. I tried singing, or playing with the dog, but my frustration only grew deeper and I felt myself reaching the edge. When finally, I got my hands on a laptop a friend had the heart to let me borrow. Though the beautiful electronic machine didn’t work online, a part of my sanity was saved. My desk was no longer haunted by the absence of a dear companion.

The next mixed voltage signal to my logics board was my minimum use of the Internet. At first I didn’t mind this much. I’m not one who likes to spend hours online anyway. I get frustrated and restless, mostly because I seem to be destined to work on slow computers with slow connections. Anyway, at first I welcomed less time on the computer, and it gave me an even greater excuse not to check all my emails, not to have to answer them all, and not to have to be responsible about doing what needed to be done. “Oh gee, my Internet isn’t working, I guess I’ll just have to watch a movie.”

But, over time, as more and more To Do lists of “Things I couldn’t get done without a computer” piled up, I started to get anxious and stressed. I’d sneak into my roommate’s room while he was gone and use his Internet to get as much done as possible. But then when he got home he usually needed it and I got tired of knocking on his door, not to say hi to him but, to use his computer.

“Can I check my email?”, “Do you mind if I check my email real quick?”, “Hey, can I look up some directions on yahoo when you are done?”, “Hey, wanna look up this cute guy I met on MySpace? It will be fun!”

The rest of the time I sat in my room just thinking. Wondering what I could do or get done without a computer and finding myself not knowing how to live without it, finding myself essentially not having a life without it.

Soon enough, my roommate went out of town and I had free access to his computer. I thought finally my anxiety would be saved. Except, his computer caught a virus and was so slow it literally took about 10 minutes just to start up, another 2 minutes to load an internet page, and then about 30 seconds to a minute to go from page to page. I dealt with this crazy slow computer for a period of three days and came close to pulling my hair out. Trust me if I had hard liquor in the house I would have finished it by now. I owe the tiny bit of sanity I have left to another electronic devise, my television. Which leads me to today, the culmination of my short circuit. I was watching a BBC series titled The Human Face when it hit me… Most of my relationships are based on being able to go online!

How does this show I was watching have anything to do with living offline?

Well, the show is about how much we communicate with our face, and how much faces mean to us in regards to our relationships. There’s a part in the program where they speak of fame and the desire to be famous. A man makes the good point that when you live in a small town of 300 people, everybody knows who you are, whether you are the doctor, or the son of the baker, you have a role in that community and you are recognized for it when you walk down the street. But in a big city, like L.A. or N. Y., you are just another face in the crowd. People don’t know who you are, where you come from, what you love or what you hate. You are in some ways, nothing but an image. No wonder so many people feel invisible, their Self unrecognized and unseen. And how do we relieve this invisibility? By creating a sense of community… Online.

We have become accustomed to living in a cyber world. Never mind the people at the market who know that you come every Saturday to load up on fruits and veggies, or the people at work who know to buy you a non-fat latte if they happen to stop by Starbucks and you always pay them back, or the people at the dog park who may not know your name, but they always know your face and always say hi. Never mind them because they don’t know your inner most feelings that you post on your online blog, they don’t know your favorite books and films that you’ve clearly listed on your profile, and they don’t’ know your most recent status update. Our identity is based on the profile we create on MySpace or Facebook or the character we play on Wii or the eloquence of our emails that describes how we are in over-explained terms so as not to be misunderstood or perceived as rude. And no matter how illusionary our state of existence is in the cyber world, in so many ways it has become more real than our very physical self.

During my hours offline, I realized that there are very few people I feel comfortable calling on the phone to say “How’re you doing?” I realized that many of these people I have “relationships” with, see me face to face, in the flesh, maybe twice a year. And I realized that the loneliness I feel so often intensified when I couldn’t go online and relieve it by writing an email, or receiving a comment on MySpace, or at the very least posting a blog that may only be read by 1 or 2 people but it at least it gives me a temporary feeling of meaningful existence.

See, I’m not one who dares to call a friend to unload on them and tell them my problems. Why would I want to put them in that uncomfortable situation? Then they might feel like they need to solve my problems. All I need is someone to talk to, but most people would shy away at the sign of any intense emotion, myself included, so why bother?

Instead, I talk to my computer. My computer comforts me with no judgment, no misunderstanding and no need for confrontation. The cyber world creates a safety net, a place where I can hide behind the happy picture I’ve chosen as my default pic. Write an email, talk about your day and your successes and make sure to include a smiley face so everyone knows that everything is fine. Then go about your day, telling yourself that people out there know you, because you are online.

During the 4 weeks I have spent mostly disconnected, I was exactly that. Disconnected from a part of myself, a part of my identity, and most of all a part of me that needs to be fulfilled, but is only placated by going online, like a drug.

My short circuit? Realizing that the closest relationship I have in my life, is my computer. I mean, who do you think I’m talking to now?