Message in a Bottle
Diary of an Internet Castaway
Day 1:
The image on the screen freezes for the fourth time during the video call. Rural Internet is to blame. Ever since the trees between my house and the wireless Internet tower a mile away leafed out, the slightest breeze means our Internet is as stable as a toddler on new land legs.
Thank the digital tech inventors for wireless data.
Except . . .
I just reached my mobile data limit.
Oh no! I canβt even text her to tell her what happened!
Iβm alone. Alone at home. All my connective roots to the outside world have been cut in a single blow.
Iβm not used to this feeling of utter isolation, of being completely cut off.
But then I remember Iβm not. I text my husband. He replies to my message in a bottle. We commiserate.
And then Iβm fine. So I go let my cat out the door and pet my dogs on the deck.
They have no idea weβre stuck on an island.
But thereβs a rescue ship on the horizon. The service technician is coming to move our antenna later today.
Until then, I pound out the words I wonβt be able to send into the world until after Iβve been rescued.
It beats waiting alone.
Day 2:
The rescue ship wasnβt able to land.
No matter how many ways the service technician tried to get line of site to the nearest wireless tower, he couldnβt. He blamed Mother Nature.
βA lot of the calls Iβm getting are because of all that rain we got last year. Those poplars grew two feet.β
Mother Nature is often the problem when one is a castaway.
But Iβm still here, alone on my island. Thank goodness for my furry animal friends. If they start talking, Iβll know Iβm in a Disney movie.
If you see me posting photos of my new friend Javacup, you know Iβve gone over the edge.
Meanwhile, how long before another rescue ship comes along?
Hard to say.
How long until the leaves fall off the trees?
Just kidding. Weβre looking at other options. And I topped up my mobile data to get me by in the meantime. Itβs an expensive way to email and make blog posts, and I guess I wonβt be doing any YouTube research in the near future.
But thatβs okay. Iβm supposed to be editing a novel anyway.
Thatβs not the worst way to be a castawayβhunkered on an island with a good book.
I guess I donβt need to name a volleyball. Iβm already talking to the voices in my head.
And they talk back.
Photo Copyright: Gino Santa Maria
