The Skeeter Daddle Diaries

If you’re like me – and I know you hope to God you’re not – you have a computer hooked up somewhere in your house that’s connected by something called a ‘server’ (which is a misnomer of the first order) that interfaces with the outside world. All the outside world. So when something glitches, something mysterious and possibly malignant, suddenly turns the machine into your worst enemy, you really don’t have a clue. You are cut off, banished, exiled to the darkness of your now very small, confined world. All your contacts, all your data, all your emails, your precious Facebook friends, Instagram pals — they’re no longer in reach. And the horror? Yeah, they may be gone forever.

What you realize in these dark moments is that we are dependent on technologies outside our ability to comprehend, much less repair. And when things go haywire, who ya gonna call? My computer started acting funny when we got home from vacation. New icons appeared on the monitor, response times were different than before, functions behaved in new and unusual manners, messages appeared that seemed more ominous than informational. At first I thought my machine was letting me know, the way my old dog Gonzo used to, it didn’t appreciate being left behind. But as it persisted, I entertained conspiratorial suspicions that Microsoft was pulling levers behind the screen, changing browsers, forcing me to use its own search engines, probably threatening me with a Total Shutdown if I did not acquiesce to its changes.

I know, this sounds paranoid and crazy. Until my email stopped working. I could receive email, but that was it. No outgoing, no deletions, no forwarding, just reception. I half expected a ransom note: Use Bing or We Will Kill Your Monitor, You Have Two Days, Daddle!!! Do Not Contact Any Authorities or the Screen Dies!! We Are Watching!!

Of course they’re watching. What, am I an idiot? I know what I’ve brought into my house. I’ve brought Big Brother in to babysit the kids. To babysit me!! It knows all my secrets, all my desires, all my shopping list. It knows how to blackmail me without screwing up my email, but for now, it has my email by the throat. Tomorrow, it may disable photoshop. Next day, Word. It can reduce me to a prehistoric food gatherer, naked down from the trees, jibbering chimpanzee-like as I search for nuts. Or a clue.

So far the clues are nothing but dead ends. I can get messages from the Outer World, but that’s it. Communication is over. I can hear but talking is done. If you get this, call Microsoft. Tell them I capitulate. Ask them what they want from me and explain I will do whatever is required. Hopefully you can still send me an email. If not, save yourself.

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