So I get to Bacolod and discover that my parent’s place here is having trouble with the Internet and I have been without access for awhile. I still have 3G available on my mobile’s data plan but I can’t really get online with my laptop and have felt crippled.
I still manage to Tweet, Instagram, and Facebook through my mobile but it isn’t as fast or as reliable like it would be if I had actual Internet access; but at least I’m still connected to the world, somehow. I didn’t realise how much I need to be connected to the world wide web. I didn’t realise how crucial it was to me and how I consume information. Here I am surrounded by all my books and while I have been opening and reading a lot of my old books of poetry — Mary Oliver, Peter Abbs, Rainer Maria Rilke — I want access to the rest of the world.
I have been getting a lot of sleep, though, which is good but after a day or two, I want to start working and work is not easy when I don’t have the Internet to run to for more information, to see other processes that are available, and to distract me momentarily when I get stuck in something. I didn’t realise how I have built a sort of process for writing and it’s limiting.
I miss being able to write whenever and in whatever conditions.
But I’m going to be here for awhile and that means I have to make it work. I’ll find a way.