Dear Freud, the Interweb has me in its deep, deep clutches. We blame my mother, yes?

It is not the diet. Not the getting-a-wee-bit-too-snug tee after a vacation. It definitely is not the what to buy on sale, the item with the bigger mark-down or the one with the lower price tag. Nor is it the 'Bag or Shoes?' predicament.  It is not the you-just-found-out-your-hot-yoga-instructer-bats-for-the-other-team. What it is, is the little yellow-orange flickering light on your modem. Nothing haunts, gives you anxiety or brings your world to a crashing halt like the three ominous words- Connection is down.

Crickets.

Were there Internet Gods and there are of that am sure, my mother-in-law would ask me to fast on a wednesday,  wear yellow on sunday, check the vaastu of where my modem is and maybe feed fifty poor unclaimed domain names to appease the WWW. But deeply engrossed in her game of Temple Run, my pain is dismissed with a "Wait one second!". So much for divine intervention.

By the way, has rahu-kalam passed?

Frantic to be connected, on to the next then. The ubiquitous coffee shop.  Who like the Witch with her shiny red apple, has me bite. For a simple reason- Free WiFi. And instead of falling asleep for a hundred years, I suffer through loud generic pop, a populous of age-group I long left behind and terrible Lattes.  Headphones on, I proceed to stare at the blinking cursor on my blank screen. In my best pensive, angst-y writer look. Wait, no one saw me checking my Facebook page, right?

On these coffee-shops, I have a lot to say. But that's a rant best saved for another caffeinated day.

For a blogger who has often bragged "If there's WiFi, will blog", the curse of only one or no bar seems to haunt me every time I travel. The forced two day e-detox did however chalk up to two abandoned games of scrabble, beginning Franny and Zooey (again), one squabble, two fun lunches, a bottle of wine and a brief moment spent considering self-medicating. 

Hashtag YOLO. Right? RIGHT? Sigh.

Back on, and my world didn't come crashing down, that I will admit. But best not to make this a habit, yes? 

This post really was going to be about the severely dependent relationship we have with Internet. How it validates, gratifies, proves and cements our social existence with an intensity that just can't be duplicated. It really was. But now that am connected, I must go Instagram my Latte and make that ever important pick- XPro or LoFi?

(Cross-posted on High Heel Confidential)