Robyn's Secret Passage
Sometimes I hate the Internet. I hate the intangibility of it all. I hate that the only thing I have to touch, the only thing I can lay my hands on are the components of my computer.
I don't like how I can spend hours working on something but have nothing physical to show for it. Just once I'd like to have something physical to keep.
And I'm not talking about printing web pages out. That's like an architect lamenting that she couldn't take the building she'd been working on home at the end of the day and having someone suggest she take a photo to remind her of it.
A photo of a building is not a building. A print-out of a web page is not a web page. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.
All that time and effort amd the only physical change is on a drive in a beige box in a rack in an air-conditioned room.
The solitude of it all can be maddening. In a room. Typing. Even when you're engaging in the art of online chat there can be no mistake - you are alone. There are no other people here.
Sometimes I like the Internet.