When I moved into my apartment in February, there was a strong, unprotected wireless signal for me to pick up on. But now, it’s broken. Broken like Shania’s heart. Twenty-four days ago, the signal disappeared, and so during the evenings and weekends, I have been left internet-less.

This is probably a good thing. Having a desk job that requires no responsibility with the exception of answering the phone (that rings approximately 3 times each day – and at least once, it’s a wrong number), I spend 8 hours, Monday through Friday, staring at my computer screen. I check emails as soon as they arrive, I respond to wall posts and blog posts and comments and messages in real time, I read CNN.com and NYTimes.com and dooce.com. I leave work feeling exhausted from all that I’ve DONE, even though I haven’t DONE anything. The cyber world is a dangerous world to get wrapped up in, and something awful is happening to my brain.

My creativity is seeping away. And I am becoming lazy.

Does anyone else feel this way? The internet is a convenient tool, and makes our lives so much easier. But when it takes the place of real-life communication, or gives the brain a quick-fix of instant stimulation or distraction, we wither.

I’m withering.

I am so thankful that it is Friday afternoon, because this means that for 2 glorious days, I will not be sitting in front of a computer. My eyes will be given a break from that terrible glare that causes me to leave work doing a slow-blink. I will bask in the glory of being far-removed from the instant fingertip access that I have to information – information thought up by OTHER minds, and presented to me by OTHER people, and funny stories about OTHER worlds.

This weekend, I will think and create and read and play my guitar and MAYBE interact with real humans. If they’re lucky.

Behold: the fruits of my internet labor, for your benefit! These are just a few of the many things I have run across as of late. Now, read and learn.

Should I take a lemon wedge in my water?
No. Make that a hell, no.

What are some things that I might get someday?
This, and this, and the Bluebird Cafe version of this. Still this. This might be appropriate, too.

Who’s on Jay Leno tonight?
Just my boyfriend.

Where did the phrase “balls to the wall” come from?
“The expression comes from the world of military aviation. In many planes, control sticks are topped with a ball-shaped grip. One such control is the throttle—to get maximum power you push it all the way forward, to the front of the cockpit, or firewall (so-called because it prevents an engine fire from reaching the rest of the plane). Another control is the joystick—pushing it forward sends a plane into a dive. So, literally pushing the balls to the (fire)wall would put a plane into a maximum-speed dive, and figuratively going balls to the wall is doing something all-out, with maximum effort. The phrase is essentially the aeronautical equivalent of the automotive “pedal to the metal.” (from this site – thanks, C!)

Where can I find cheap fancy groceries in Nashville?
AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Since I sit at a desk all day long, I find myself clicking out into the internet. I click and click and click until suddenly, I realize that I have no idea how I got to where I am. Like when I came across this. And also, this.

But the other day, I was so happy to arrive here.

This is the funniest story I have read in a long, long time.

So I forwarded the link to my sister, and then we engaged in a little Facebook chat about it:

Becca: It reminds me of a story my friend told me. Except she was in bed with her cousin. And it was pee. Real pee – not even lemonade.

Me: BUT THAT IS THE TOTAL OPPOSITE OF THIS STORY.

I’ve run across some fantastic things that simply have to be shared.

For starters, we have this. Disturbing, yes – but the reviews are fantastic!

Secondly, are you having trouble waking up in the morning? This is such a brilliant concept, I wish I’d invented it.

And last of all, I had seen this before, but my friend Mark sent it to me again last night. It makes me want to have British babies, or at least just point and laugh at them.

“I hate being an INFJ”
No I don’t, I love it.

“Don’t be bored”
If you are, this is all I’ve got for you. You might be more excited to go here.

“Pondering face”
Hmmmm…

“Sheryl get naked”
I honestly have no idea why this led someone here.

“West Virginia mountain mama”
Someone in Lithuania continues to search for this repeatedly. Sorry that THIS is all I’ve got.

“Best traits in men”
Best? No. Worst? Yes.

Since I arrived in Nashville, I have been subsisting on a steady diet of:
* Breakfast: egg on toast
* Lunch: one piece of bread with mustard and turkey (no cheese)
* Dinner: tomato soup with 4 Ritz crackers crumbled in.

Yesterday, my mom reminded me that I am NOT at the bottom of the hole (yet), and stop being ridiculous, and go buy yourself a brick of cheese, for crying out loud. I do have some savings, and the reason that I saved money for so long was to HAVE it when I NEED it. Now is one of those times. And so, I am allowing myself to spend some of my life-savings on Caloric Intake and Survival.

After much thought and prayer, I decided that I could allow myself a mid-afternoon snack. So I purchased two of my favorite ingredients: apples and peanut butter.

Adam’s, my favorite peanut butter, was nowhere to be found in this foreign store they call Kroger. I did, however, find what looked to be the next-best-thing: Krema Natural Peanut Butter. I took it home, and before opening it, noticed a suggestion on the label:

“For stirring tips, visit our website!”

Stirring tips? Intriguing! Now, I am one to follow instructions, adhere to the rules, even when it involves using the tube’s “suggested” amount of a 1” strip of toothpaste every time I brush my teeth. So, naturally, before proceeding any further with my snack, I checked out the website.

Their tip: “Oil separation occurs naturally, just stir it up!”

And once again, there went 2 minutes of my life that I can never get back.

I am about to do something that is momentous and monumental. I am about to shut down my original MySpace profile.

Ever since I created my music MySpace page, it has been too much work to keep up with dual profiles. My internet time has been inconsistent this fall, and so there have been many days where I ask the question, “Will I check my personal page, or my music page?” because Lord knows I can’t do both.

Well, I’ve been faced with this Sophie’s Choice for far too long. And as Thoreau says, “Simplify, simplify, simplify.”

MySpace has been a revolutionary tool for so many people. At it’s best, it’s an amazing way to network and keep tabs on friends and family. Granted, at it’s worst, it’s a conduit for pedophiles and serial killers to track their victims. But for me, it has brought nothing but happiness and the miraculous ability to shadow boys that I have crushes on.

I have met wonderful friends through MySpace, including my dear friend Sarah here in Nashville who has been instrumental in my decision to actually move here. I love having the ability to stay in touch with my friends who are splayed all over the country and the world. I am friends with about half the city of Anchorage via MySpace. And even my mom has joined in the fun, and has enjoyed “getting to know” my friends via their profiles.

Oh yeah, by the way, if you don’t want my mom checking out your page, you’d best be making your profile private. I, for one, think that private profiles are lame. Go big or go home. If you’re going to display something on the internet, you’d better feel comfortable with anyone coming across it.

Said the girl with the very public internet life, who ends many days with the words, “Open mouth, insert foot.”

There are some sad things about pulling the plug on my personal page. For example, my music page does not give me the ability to tell anyone which high school I went to, and thus opening the door for me to declare that I was the prom queen. The only reason that this is worth mentioning is that I never got anything from being the prom queen aside from the ability to say, “I was the prom queen.” Therefore, I must say it whenever I have the chance.

Also, I got in on the MySpace action fairly early on, and therefore I wore the “Cool Badge” of having been a member since the dawn of time. Now, my new profile will say, “Member since 09/24/2007.” So uncool. So behind the times.

Not to mention the fact that I very well might lose my high place in various friend’s Top 8.

But regardless, here I go. Farewell, original MySpace membership. Thanks for the laughs, awkward wall posts, and boy-stalking memories. See you on the music side.