The internet was down for a week. A whole mother-flipping week. Fixed now, doubled the download limit, like a boss. It was... it was... well, it was rather nice. Quite lovely indeed. Yeah, sure, crucify me, cover me in Kate Moennig and throw me to the lesbians, but that internet-free week-or-so was filled to the proverbial brim with upsides and fringe benefits. One, the most prominent of course, is fit for elaboration. There were more, but they're not worth the trouble of typing. I swear: there were more.
It happened before as well. The very same symptom has arisen of the same situation, that being technology deprivation, once before. I was on holiday (not to say it really carried any of the usual connotations one might associate with holidays, like, I don't know, fun, but, well, let's just say 'holiday') with little to no access to social technology, and exactly the same thing happened. It was wonderful. There was no doubt of the correlation, even after careful analysis of the variables in question because I'm just like that. It seemed, and seems again, that frequent internet use inhibits my ability to dream. Completely, inexplicably.
A valid argument against my hypothesis of sorts might go something like: "Maybe it just inhibits your memory, your ability to retain information pertaining to your subconscious." but this would not be as valid as it seems. We're all aware of the acute and irritating sensation of a fading dream. It's there, we can sense it, but it just escapes the memory boundary. That can't be it, you berk. I told you Inception was relevant, even if only slightly.
I had dreams, wonderful dreams, dreams I can't remember but am faintly aware of the presence thereof.
Is this enough to drag me away from my virtual chains?
In the words of my mother: go fuck yourself.
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