Inside my mind

I just need to write. I need to stop making excuses and write. My best excuse is that I have nothing to say, but something can pour out. I just need to knock this jug over.

Yesterday I started wondering what would happen if I had Internet amnesia. I'd wake up tomorrow and all my browser history and bookmark bars would be empty. I wouldn't remember Google or Facebook or even that the Internet existed. The Internet wouldn't be gone, I  just wouldn't remember it.

I'd come down the stairs and see my computer on the desk. I'd walk by and into the kitchen where I'd pour myself a bowl of cereal. I'd sit at the table instead of the desk and read one of C's magazines. I'd finish breakfast and then what? I wouldn't know what to do. I could work on the house or read a book or keep trying to get rust off my grandma's bike. I'd have the sense that I needed to go to work, but I wouldn't known how to get there. I'd ask C. She'd tell me how to get work.

"How do I get to work?" I'd ask. 

She'd guffaw while I stood there looking as innocent as a large-bearded man can. 

Her head would tilt and her eyebrow would scrunch up. She'd sigh and say, "Go to your desk."

I'd go to my desk, move the jar of peanut butter to one side, thumb through a pile of post-it notes and then touch my mouse to turn on the computer. I'd see the items on my desktop and the ribbon of applications running along the bottom of my screen, but I'd have the sense that I was missing something. 

I'd open a few word files on the desktop, but those would look finished, so I'd ask C again. 

"Now what?" I'd shout.

She wouldn't hear me. 

I'd wait. I'd open a few items on the ribbon while I waited. The simon says-looking ball might be a good place to start. I'd click and a Chrome window would open in front of me. 

There in bright colors "Google" would greet me with an empty box. What's a google? It sounds like a lot. The box would beckon. It begs to be filled in, typed in, completed somehow. 

"Hello" I'd type, hoping that Hal from 2001 a space odyssey was not going to answer.

 A menu of Hello's would pop up in response. A menu of 337 million if the little gray type is to be believed. None were a response, instead I got Hello! online magazine, hello wikipedia- the free encyclopedia, and a small Lionel Richie Hello on something called YouTube. Intrigued and overwhelmed I'd choose the familiar Lionel Richie.

I'd enjoy a moment of sweet nostalgia played on the keyboard and that familiar syrupy voice, but then Lionel would ask if it was him I was looking for. Hello! Is it me you're looking for?  

It wasn't. Now what?