She says she walked up to the store and bought the food especially for me. "You went where?" I ask. Evidently, this so-called "store" has food on shelves and people go there IN PERSON and place the items they've chosen in a cart. Then they go through what's called a "check-out line" and pay CASH for the food. I'm not pulling your leg here. Evidently, some people do that. Go figure.

I only buy food via grocerystore.com, paying by credit card. If its been pawed by human hands, I want no part of that so-called "food."

DAY 6: My friend went to work today. I've been sitting here, trying to figure out how I can get across town to the library. There are computers with Internet access there. I don't have a car. Maybe I can walk. It'll only take about two hours. Or maybe I can borrow somebody's car. Or steal one. Whatever it takes, man. Whatever it takes.

But, the diarrhea has set in. I haven't been able to leave the bathroom, much less the house, all day.

And now that I finally feel up to it, my friend has come home.

I've heard rumors about men in trench coats, lurking in dark alleys behind office buildings closed for the day. They run long extension cords and phone lines out of the building, and have old computers - with Internet access! - set up there.

I spend a good part of the evening looking for these guys.

I told my friend I was just going for a short walk, to get some "fresh air." Yeah, like I want any part of that funny smelling air. However, not being an Internet addict herself, she buys my story. What a sucker!

That was hours ago. She's probably pretty worried by now, but I don't really care. I've got to get online if it's the last thing I do.

DAY 7: My friend finally gets her computer repaired. Oh sweet Jesus, thank you! She turns on her computer but it takes forever to load up. "Boot up," I scream, "boot up, damn you!"

Now I'm online, typing in and posting this journal.

I'm no longer anxious and confused. I'm feeling A-ok.

I got my terminal fix.