Internet, Cell Phones, and Their Untimely Deaths

I have never been a huge fan of technology. In fact, when I was in eighth grade, I declared that I would never need to use a computer. I would like to amend that statement to, "I am lost without my computer." (Unfortunately, I mean that figuratively and literally.) Not only do I need a computer, but I also need it connected to the internet. Since moving into our new apartment, these past 38 hours have been the longest consecutive hours our internet has worked. I have talked to at least 7 different operators, 6 different cable guys, and 1 DSL provider. I really don't think I have ever been closer to yelling at complete strangers.

Recently when the husband was off cavorting with other yeast biochemists in Toronto, the internet was not working, so I needed to call him for our daily updates. He kept saying he couldn't hear me, but I could hear him. It had to be his phone; mine was practically new! Frustrated by not being able to communicate with him, I called the internet company again, hoping to coerce them into coming earlier. The cable operator said that he couldn't hear me. I admit that sometimes I will cry over insignificant moments, but this was a crisis that warranted tears.

Nothing seemed to have happened to this phone. Sure I have dropped other phones into toilets, onto cement, and occasionally into my labrador's mouth. (That is the story he tells at least.) This one was different. It just died. One splitter, several wires, one modem, and one new pink phone later, I am now connected again. I may not be a fan, but I am an addict.