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My computer is so sexy.

The way it stealthily stands so still-so strong-the bold protruding angles of the iridescent monitor screen-the soft purring of the modem-the flickering heartbeat of light-the way it fervently beckons me to its side with those murmuring dings-its intoxicating access to an infinite number of mind-numbing websites, plethora of filler facts and a blanket of far-away people and places all at my beck and call with a simple double click.

Yes, I too have sadly joined the ranks of the internet addicts. I fall victim to the trend setter websites, the friendsters', my spaces', facebooks'-those which must be methodically checked multiple times a day, heck, try every few hours of the day. Those which never fail to alert me of new messages which must be preyed upon at heart racing speed. But, it’s my email addiction which truly takes the cake. The checking of new messages has somehow over the years intertwined itself into part of my daily mental health survival routine. Removal or blockage of email access can consequently result in severe anxiety, feelings of dire hopelessness and even chest pain. Monitoring my web accounts and checking my email has become so engrained within my twenty something year old lifestyle that the slightest inconvenience resulting in an uncanny default in my tender internet connection can send me hurtling over the edge. The heat, the cold, the rain, the wind-all of mother nature’s mood swings harbor the audacious capacity to threaten the lines of palpable communication.

Take a few weeks ago for example…literally, one of the steamiest and most uncomfortable July afternoons of the summer…There I sat, tiny beads of sweat trickling down my back as I pleaded with and cajoled the computer in the air-conditionless lab to pretty please connect to the internet. A tense silence penetrated the thick air broken only by the pounding of fists and low moaning reverberating from the mysterious fellow stationed parallel to my computer. He had already risen from his spot, feverishly attempting to sample each computer’s failing dsl connection…optimistically assuming that his lucky touch would magically restore the waning computer connection back to its glorious health. Surely one must work!

The pitiful truth of the matter is that mr. anger management and I are not alone in our insatiable obsession for fast speed internet. On the other side of each computer screen, there sit countless other post-college technosavy addicts..Starbucks Mochochino in one hand, wireless mouse in the other, kneading brows in deep concentration to determine the quintessential gmail account name or formulate the wittiest away message. These names, codes, symbols and pictures define our very being, articulate our inner thoughts and individualize ourselves among the massive pool of internet anonymity.

My computer is a vixen.

It may entice me when it calls, but in the long run, it is a wall, a partition…an obstacle hindering me from establishing real interpersonal contact with those on the other side of the divider. Instead of speaking face to face, we press our noses to a screen and express our deepest sensations via smiley and frowny faces. We have abbreviated words for time sack and exchanged heart to hearts in the physical company of one another for kissy faces and virtual hugs. We move and think fast and in response, demand even faster results-quick fixes-instant gratification.

What is the solution? I’ll get back to you after I check my email.