a year of morning thanks
It's hard to imagine right now, but soon enough I'll suffer D. T. horrors when cut off from all sources of media--google-less, blog bereft, my in-box left unkept and running over. For a long weekend, I'll be hopelessly stranded, miles and miles from an Internet connection and television transmission--analog or digital--everything left behind. In the Texas hill country where I'm bound, even my cell phone is useless.
My only soulful sustenance is the realization that it's happened before without danger to life and limb. I've made it in years past; I may make it again.
I know, I know--it's a blessing. The treat in retreat is becoming just so bereft, but right now going without seems as much burden as blessing.
Nonetheless, I'm looking forward to it, despite my fears. The food will be good--it always is; the scenery sweet; the company beloved, a whole passel of like minds thrown together in mutual deprivation. We can make it. So will I.
But I'll miss booting up.
I am, of course, being irresponsibly hyperbolic. It's almost always good to get away (should that be one word or two?). And this morning, my last here in the basement for a few days, I'm thankful to be going. Such suffering offers ample opportunity for growth and strength, right?
Sure. Sigh. I'm off.