I may or may not quit you

Dear Internet,

All we’ve talked about is me, me, me. I think it’s time that we talked about you.

I think we need a break from each other. Or at the very least, we may need to start seeing other people.

You see Internet, I love you, I do. You’ve given me my husband, job & life skills, friends, and adventures galore. You are beyond delightful. But our current arrangement is not working out for me at the moment and that saddens me. Truth be told Internet, it hasn’t been working out for quite some time but I was always desperate to hold on to you and be deliriously desperately in denial of the hold you have on me. When we first met Interent, everyday was a fresh day of learning. I was always digging into your nooks and crannies, scratching you under your chin. Now, it seems, nothing is really fresh anymore. Everything is a retweet, a digg, a stumbleupon, a like, or a tweet.

I’m just not that into you anymore.
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Tragedy in the style of the Greeks

Dear Internet,

I’m deeply sorry for the last month of silence. It was not fair to you, to me, or to the dozens of wonderful people who have reached out to me. I have a fairly good reason for at least half of that time:

If you’ve been following me around the social spheres, I talked about this surgery quit a bit in which I opted to have the arthritis and bone chips literally chipped away from my right ankle and the tendon in my right calf cut and lengthened. The original injury occurred in December of 1994, when in the throes of exam week, I slipped and fell on the ice glossed driveway at my parent’s house. This ice aerobics gave me a double fracture and a dislocation in my right ankle, later binded by 12 pins and a plate. When the pins and plate came out, the doctors told me at 22 that I would have fairly severe arthritis. I laughed. By the time I turned 30, the arthritis started making its introductions to my body and by the time I was 35, was becoming a roommate in the vein of single white female.
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