Relative Distance.

I first hit the Internet in November of 1994, so it has been a big part of my life for a substantial portion of my life. I couldn't tell you where my phone book is, as I look numbers up online. Same thing with television listings, movie listings, tide schedules, weather forecasts. I sometimes joke that I may as well be wired directly into the wall. But the biggest part of my online life has to be the number of close friends I've made over the years.

Those who don't spend much time online don't understand how quickly you can become friends with someone you may never actually see. I have a theory that it has to do with the fact that email is almost like telepathy. The communication goes almost "brain-to-brain", undiluted by bodies -- such things as noticing someone's facial tic, or worrying that you might be laughing too loudly at a joke that few people would get. There's much less "ambient noise", and so somehow it seems more of a direct connection.

The ability to deceive another via email is legendary, and we've all heard stories, both humourous and heinous, of such things happening on the net. But, in truth, the vast majority of the people I have met online have been genuine treasures that, because of distance, I would have been unlikely to meet in any other way.

One of my very first netfriends was my friend Damon, with whom I started corresponding in early 1995. I found his email on a penpal newsgroup, and since he seemed relatively normal, I dropped him a line. Although our contact has waxed and waned over the years, the humourous banter interspersed with intelligent discourse has been a favourite part of my time online. We have exchanged perspectives on everything from the death of Princess Diana, 9/11, and Big Brother (US version versus the British one), to what vegetables are called on either side of the pond, and what his daily underground commute entails, complete with my tracing it on a map online with his assistance on the phone. He also does a wicked Scooby Doo impression.

I think one of the most bizarre moments in our friendship came when, after I'd known him for a number of years, he told me he was having a bit of angst to do with his job. Eventually Damon told me something that I would not have known otherwise -- that he was blind. I got the feeling that, in the beginning, it wasn't relative to our discussions and not something he wanted me to define him as, and as time went on, he found it awkward to casually work into a conversation. (Hey, I hadn't told him that I was obese, either, so hey. See what I mean about "brain-to-brain / body doesn't matter" communication?)

Given the nature of email, and instant messaging, and long distance phone calls, aside from dealing with time zones, Damon normally doesn't seem like he lives so far away. And, knowing that, if my bank account could handle it, I could hop a plane and go see him within hours adds to this. But right now, I couldn't feel more far away, or more useless. I'm sitting here writing this with one eye watching my in-box, and the other watching CNN.

When I first heard that the underground system and a bus in London had been hit by several terrorist bombs at the height of rush hour this morning, the instant-news-junkie in me grabbed the remote control. When I heard that one of the stations hit was one of the ones I remembered Damon mentioning, I started to get a bad feeling. And although the odds are against it, I can't help but being fearful that he may not be okay. I sent him an email right away, asking him to check in. But if they've shut down the entire transportation system, he might be between work and home, and given that he works for the BBC, he may not see the email for a while. And as I'm hearing the eyewitnesses' descriptions of the dark, smoke-filled carriages, and the panic and chaos as a result, I'm trying to put the picture of Damon and his service dog in the middle of it out of my mind.

I've often thought that one problem with email friendships is that if something did happen to me, my husband would have no idea to tell my friends across the net. To them, it would be like I'd just gone silent, with no explanation. Although I'm mostly sure Damon's okay, the truth is that, if he doesn't write back, I may never know.

Time to go back to cutting up cardboard. I'm making bases for artist trading cards. (My dog, however, hates the sound of the paper cutter and finds it a bit stressful.)