So now I’m trapped.
I called in to ask to have my internet connected, and the
nice lady on the other end said Emerson will call me to set up a time, and I
don’t dare leave for fear of missing Emerson’s call. Which means I can’t go
down to the common room to get connected and post items to the blog. Which means
I can keep writing them, but you can’t read them until Emerson calls, freeing
me from this enslavement to the sound of the phone.
The phone, by the way, is not my cell phone. It didn’t occur
to me until I got here that when the instructions say, “Call extension 1020”,
it isn’t something I can do through Verizon. The assumption is that of course
people will bring landline phones with them – who doesn’t have a landline
phone? And the answer is, for instance, me.
Fortunately, the Wittwers had a spare, and John brought it
up to me yesterday afternoon. It’s a lovely little Panasonic, plugs into the
wall outlet, gives me access to the TP phone network. I can even get an outside
line just by dialing 8. (Local calls included in the monthly fee, long distance
is extra.) And this morning it let me call the nice lady who promised that
Emerson would call. I have to wonder whether Emerson has my phone number, and
in another hour or so I will probably call the nice lady back and make sure
they know how to reach me. The Wittwers’ number is their room number with a
preceding digit, but the number on this line has no connection to my room
number, so maybe they can’t find me.
I should be embarrassed to post publicly such naked evidence
of internet addiction. But on the other hand, one of the unexpected benefits of
old age is that the number of things that embarrass me is dwindling. Soon, I
will happily flap down the hallway in my flannel nightgown and fake sheepskin
slippers because what the hell.
I want my internet.
Hope you have internet access in your room by now. And I know what you mean about being embarrassed by less and less!
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