Like most things we dread doing, thinking about being off-line for 48 hours and actually being off-line were 2 completely different enterprises.  The panic I felt leading up to my electronic/interweb disconnect had zero to do with the real thing.

I learned that I didn’t miss it all that much.  I learned that surfing TV channels is really no different than digging my hand into a big bag of potato chips.  Mindless, and to no good end.  I learned that my email box does not always need to be cleaned out.  I learned I way-too-often go online and poke around news sites and photo pages and Facebook and politics tickers and blogs that I don’t even care about anymore, all out of nothing but ho-hum bad habit.  I just need to stop.  I finally had to admit I’m getting bored (gasp!) with Words with Friends.

I remembered how much I love a quiet house, especially in the morning.  That an extra walk with the dogs is always a winner.

Of course all media and connectivity is not a bad thing.  This week I got a Facebook message from a cousin I haven’t seen in almost 30 years.  He’s living a few hours from me now and we’re planning to meet up.  Yesterday I went to the DMV and was told I could either wait in line for 2 or 3 hours, or go home and take care of my issue on-line.  I discovered  I missed the always good conversation over at Averil’s blog, a good one yesterday about shame.

One night I watched the documentary of a Holocaust survivor (Gerda Weissman Klein) whose book I read a few years ago.  I loved her book, which you can find here.

And last night I watched a favorite old movie, Dead Poets Society, and cried like a baby at the end.  The defiance.  The love.  O Captain, My Captain.  Ethan Hawke standing on that desk.