Neglect

I woke up one morning, and the internet was a week older. The websites I patronize had shiny brand new features, new posts, new videos, new news. My eyes hurt from inside out, and my head throbbed. How did I miss all this stuff happening on the internet? How did I get so dehydrated? My eyes were drier than usual. Was I asleep for a week? What kept me asleep so long? I was tired. I tried to rewind and remember, but I felt like I had come out of a coma.

I scratched my head. Small grains of sand flew onto the floor. Something drifted through the darkness. A submarine on wheels. The Nautilus! A giant octopus with flame-spitting tentacles. A pirate ship. A pink elephant. In the distance, London Bridge wheeled the other way. People in glowing costumes scurried to and fro like LED ants. A big black scorpion towered overheard—it’s erect stinger rocking up and down. And a crowd had gathered around a thirty foot Trojan Horse.

The horse began to move forward and disappeared in a cloud of smoke. A pack of wild bicycles rode by, with creaky wheels and squeaky toys and furry-animal frames, reminding me of a children’s book I read sometimes.

There was loud music in every direction. Everything was booming everywhere. I sat there on my bed, hugging my knees, wondering why I couldn’t remember anything else. But this wasn’t even my bed. Or even a bed. I was actually sitting in the front seat of my car on the way back from Burning Man and had just picked up a Wi-Fi signal outside Reno, NV. In retrospect, I think I was so shocked and nostalgic for all the stuff I had missed on the internet that week and was beginning to feel traumatic stress symptoms; viz. amnesia, flashbacks, and dissociation. There’s no internet at Burning Man, so you should seriously consider that when you buy your $1,500 ticket next year. And try to avoid scalpers, I guess.

Use your head.

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