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September 1996 seems like eons ago. We'd finally
gotten our extra hard drive. (560 megs! Will we ever fill it?) We'd finally
bought the extra RAM. (16 Megs ... do you think we went a little overboard,
honey?) I sat through the interminably long download, munching pretzels and
hoping the baby wouldn't wake up from her nap until I was done.
I'd seen the announcement over a year ago. Enthralled by the artwork
and the magical thought of being a person on line, and not just a name, I
bustled over to the website only to find that I was untold megs short of memory,
not to mention power and speed. Sighing, I downloaded every screen shot I
could find, cursed our inadequate 386, and returned, vaguely unfulfilled, to the
genealogy threads. Over time I accepted it, but I never really forgot.
But now I was armed. My system was stacked, CSi
upgraded, and my direct debit working like a charm. I only had to restart the
download once, and amazingly enough it unzipped and installed on the first try.
Almost trembling with the excitement of explorati on, the discovery of a new
technology, I clicked the link and sailed into the Dreamscape.
Sometime during that first, riveting adventure I called my husband over
to the screen. He watched for a while, then drifted quietly away, preferring
his involving but inactive television. He claimed it just didn't excite him
much. Perhaps, being a natural extrovert, he preferred to keep to himself
during his downtime. Of course, though he professed no interest he was always
watching over my shoulder.
I, however, was completely entranced. I met a
wonderful friend and spent many hours with him. While showing me around, he
mentioned all the wonderful fun things to do. "Some people even get
married,"he told me. Married? Oh, brother! We both had a good laugh over
how involved people got with a bunch of pictures on a computer screen. We met
every Saturday and Sunday morning for hours, without fail. It got to be a
regular date. Not that there was ever any hint of romance involved. But
whenever I went inworld, I ESP'd Slade. We talked, we shopped, we painted, we
even played Bingo.
Of course, we weren't really that attached to this dream world, not like
"those other people". But when a change in employment forced Slade to
give up his account, I almost cried. He bequeathed me his turf. His name was
still on the walls when I took over. It felt so empty; even when I had the
speakers turned off the silence echoed in my ears. I broke the lease and moved
into a different two bedroom. The memories were just too much.
And then I got The Bill. $300. Shock changed to
horror, then a desperate sort of panic. Download the billing history. Check
the session settings. Read the service agreement. It's real. 75 hours ... but
how?! When??! Doing what??!!! Self-Delusion! It was just a fluke, first-month
raptures. Next month won't be as bad. $175 later, The Solemn Resolution: It's
better, but I've got to get this under control! $50 later, Success?? Oh, this
is ridiculous!
Dismayed and discouraged, I floated adrift on the vast sea of cyberspace
surrounding Kymer. I couldn't believe the power and attraction of this
Dreamscape. The forum had become like a second home to me. My family objected
that I wasn't spending time with them, and they were right. I neglected dishes,
laundry, sleep, and even more important things. I firmly held myself away from
any romantic involvements, but even so I was overwhelmed by this uncanny
experience. I even dreamed about it.
Finally, in a fit of self-preservation (and out
of a desperate need to pay the holiday bills) I pulled the plug. Cold Turkey.
I even pulled the forum from my OLR scripts to avoid temptation. I left the
computer stubbornly turned off, testament to my inability to log on without "just
checking in" for an hour or two. And amazingly, the longer I stayed away,
the easier it became. We played with the baby. We started renting movies. I
worked on other hobbies more often and made regular trips to the library. I even
found myself cleaning house. Let other people get addicted to the "graphic
chat room" if they must, but I was stronger than that. After all, it's
just a game.
A few months later I drifted in off the mercurial Kymer sea "just
to check in." Horrors! The turf was locked! My things! MY STUFF!!!!!
Determined not to lose my precious connection, my identity in this world
which supposedly no longer held any power over me, I frantically parked every
minute that I could. The Tokens that had never mattered before suddenly became
an all-consuming passion!
I thought I was over this. When did all these
pixels become so important? A kind friend bailed me out after learning of my
predicament. I couldn't believe the relief. It was as though he rescued me
from drowning. Only pixels, only pixels. But in those few, brief, worried
days, that turf rent seemed every bit as important as our numerous "real"
bills.
Moderation, I told myself, was the key this time. I took up bingo
again, because it allowed me to keep only one eye on the screen and the rest in
"real life." Weekly trivia games satisfied my competitive side and
became my social circle. But as much as I enjoyed it, I always held back.
Though compelled to log on, I logged out precipitously after most events. I
just couldn't risk the money again. Besides, what could the social circle hold
for me, who lacked conversation skills and rebuffed all attempts at romance?
Besides, none of it really mattered anyway, right?
Then ... The Loophole. Ahh, blessed
technological failure! The old habits surfaced in a rush. Isolated and
unemployed, the dust from our waking world relocation settling around me as I
tentatively began searching for work, the companionship and support I found in
the Dreamscape made up for the loss of friends, familiarity, and focus. Days
and nights were spent endlessly exploring the streets of Phantasus, meeting and
making friends with no worries about money.
Yet still, always holding back. Others spoke of intense feelings in the
Dreamscape: how easy it is to fall in love, to be hurt, to make friends, blah,
blah, blah. "These people are way too involved with this place," I
told myself while decorating my turf. "It's just a playground! None of
it's real." But when an innocent flirtation and a slip of the tongue
threatened a new friendship, I was near tears, frantic with worry, up all night
wondering if either of them would ever speak to me again. Sure, I've kept my
distance. Yeah, right.
"I only use the Dreamscape to relax, to
unwind. It's just a game." Yet when I stood on the Observation Deck
staring out at the stars, I could feel the key grow warm in my hands. I could
see the subtle glow in the elven aura, and its answer and in the jet black
pixelized sky. And the sound of that joyous ESP ringing in my head brought
tears to my eyes. For the next week, I was walking on air.
"... virtual reality can do little to unite one with the nature of
the universe and the cosmic order of existance." Did I really write that?
A recent letter from a friend (refering to my
December 1997 article on mythology in the Dreamscape) reminded me that "Virtual
experience is no less valid, no less moral, no less healthy a learning ground
than waking world experience. The entertainment, relaxation and escape from
waking world matters one indulges in there in no way makes one less available to
spiritual awakening, to personal growth, to union with the Cosmic Order."
My self-imposed distance from our dream world (or at least my self-imposed
delusion that I'm distant from it) clouded my recognition of that important
truth. As a result, my December article was seriously flawed. In my fear of
going too far, I failed to go half far enough. That is an error I hope to
remedy over the coming year.
I don't know why I'm constantly holding part of myself back from the
richness of this experience. Perhaps I am afraid of the intensity of emotions.
As others have remarked, experiences here are often sharper, more immediate,
more intense. I willingly plunge completely into virtual games like Ultima, so
perhaps I fear the emotional involvement. Perhaps I am not quite ready to take
the journey that awaits me here. I've alternately convinced myself that "too
deep" an involvement is either a sign of illness or leads to one. I've
written it off as belonging entirely to people without the strong, stable
attachements I am blessed with in the waking world. But the truth is, I've just
never let myself go that far. The potential is there, as this world has pulled
me into its complex dream time and again. But I'm just not willing to take that
extra journey. It scares me.
It's cliche because it's true: The Dreamscape is
many things to many people. It is a playground, a singles club, a social
gathering, a study group. It is a game, an island, a community. But most of
all, it is an experience, and like all experiences, you get out of it what you
put in.
I will probably never allow myself to experience romance in the
Dreamscape. But that does not disavow the beauty and power and reality of the
romance others find. I hope I never have to face a personal catastrophe. But
even if I don't others will still find deep personal solace in their virtual
support group when they need it most. I may not be able to reconcile virtual
symbolism with my personal beliefs, but that does not make those who fully
experience both either disfunctional or schizophrenic. "There are more
things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,"
and the universe is much too vast to be viewed through my poor eyes alone.
I just checked my bill for my first two months on
the internet. Not bad. Still in budget, but more than I thought I'd do. Well,
there was the holiday. It'll be better next month. Nothing to worry about.
After all, I'm not that involved, not like these other people. I keep a
constant state of seperation, a good sense of perspective, and I have to go do
the dishes.
Better check my turf first, I'm not sure when the rent is due. And
where did I leave that Dreamspeak deck...
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