If you’d told humanity 20 years ago how abruptly our days would grind to a halt when the internet cut out, they’d tell you that you were mad. Yet here we are: in a few short decades, our level of internet-dependency has skyrocketed. I remember a time before the internet (or at least before it was prevalent in the day-to-day life of average people), and I certainly never felt like I was missing out on something. But now, when Shaw says — as it so often does — hey, maybe you shouldn’t have a connection for the next five minutes, I’m left to wander aimlessly around my home, trying to find something to pass my time until the connection comes back, and I can resume my work. Maybe I’ll tidy up my desk a little (those receipts are starting to pile up), or unload the dishwasher (it’s been sitting full all day). I’d do some studying, but I got all e-textbooks this semester, so I can’t load them up. I don’t even have a data plan for my phone, so I can’t go complain about it on Twitter. What a pathetic excuse for a millennial I am. If only I had some other, more traditional medium in which to complain.

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