In Hell

I am in internet-less hell. Hell because there is no Internet. No Internet, because this is Sardegna. I should have known it. I joked about it, that I would be without it, that I would have no choice but to suffer contact-less days and nights and here I am, suffering. Endlessly. This is day two, I remind myself.

Apparently, corrects my MacBook, Internet is a proper noun, emphasizing further the importance of its existence. Along with America, Carmex, and Vogue. Since I can’t live without these three, how then, can one expect me to live without the previous?

My Airport doesn’t find a single wireless network, protected or not. I am literally without options. My access to Internet comes only from the frame shop with an Ethernet plug-in that is a steep hike away in the town center. And today is Sunday. Not only do I know it is closed because it is the day of rest, but also because I am sitting next to the proprietor.

The hours drag on and I wonder if the days will ever change. I wonder how a person lives this way, how long they can endure. "How come there is no internet here?" I ask, accompanied by a practiced, forced smile. “We didn’t get around to putting in the Internet yet. I can use it at work and Valerio uses it at the shop, and so we didn’t see the need.” I nod politely, arranging my face into an expression that I think says, Ah, understandable. “And how long ago did you move into this new apartment?” I ask, my smile now a grimace. “In December.”

It is a cretinous lifestyle, to be sure. Day two, echoes ominously in my head. I can't spell “cretinous” off the top of my head and I try to look it up using my handy formatting palette: “Office cannot connect to the Internet,” it tells me. “Make sure that your computer is connected to the Internet, and press RETURN to try again.” Not only did it repeat the word “Internet” twice, it was even capitalized in the toolbox.