A couple of years ago I was physically dependent on oxycontin because of pain issues. Besides all the psychological stuff of feeling like a junkie (crash of self-absorbed over-thinking music), I learned what it feels like to need a fix. Well, fortunately, on a mild level, but still.

Because of the nice people at Verizon, I don’t currently have the Web at home. It was a peaceful and annoying weekend; I can blather later on the non-line thing.

But here’s the deal: I’m logged on at ye alma mater right now, and, after whinging to my Facebook friends, found myself relaxing. I still have to spend tomorrow fighting with Verizon, but I don’t feel as bad about it anymore. Something in my brain whimpered and felt better. I got a fix.

I’ve noticed this phenomenon before, back when I had similar issues while in the shelter. It’s not just that I’ve got the ambience of dozens of baby lawyers cramming for exams; it’s the net that makes this all of a sudden feel safe. That home is scary–a place where Somebody Mean is cutting me off from the outside world. Keeping me from my friends. From information.

The Harvard Law School feels safer and more embracing than my own room and kitty cat and teddy bear. How sick is that?

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