Too many years of scanning network backbones by the glow of my monitor. Too many late night pizza feasts, becoming the poster child for poor diet. It’s too much trouble, but when there’s nothing else in the house, coffee blacker than the blackness of my screen. Too much working myself right up to the edge of that adrenaline rush, finding one last neglected port to worm into. Eventually it caught up with me. Yeah yeah, I know they say it's genetics, but I can't help feeling like I'm paying for living a normal teenage life. 

I don't remember the first time, but I remember the ugliest. I was four hours into a marathon session of Half-Life on the 'Gamex - SO much cooler, btw, when you play it with the mod chip installed - and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor. She had her arms locked tight around me and was screaming something in my face. "STOP IT! STOP IT! PLEASE!" It was a grand mal, lucky I hadn't bitten my tongue or gouged my face on the side of the coffee table going down or something, and it's not like the two of them hadn't seen it a million times before. But it had been getting better - hell, I had been on the Dilantin for something like six months by that point which was doing NOTHING to help my acne - and I guess the 'rents never expected to see another seizure that bad. 

I was laid up for five straight days. Treated like a king, they waited on me hand and foot while I laid in bed and sipped juice and avoided strobing monitors and tried not to look pathetic. All the time, I was just itching to get back online. 1337 h4x0rs have to stay wired, or our batteries run down. Scratch was just itching to give me shit for time spent off the grid, totally. 

Monday I played catchup to see that my firewall had taken a solid pounding while I was playing sad little invalid. I figured, okay, what goes around comes around. The urchins probably wanted to see what the hell I was keeping on MY root for a change, and were keeping themselves busy this whole time. Little did they know that instead of the thousands of game keys and ripped .mp3s and porn archives they might expect, all they would have found was a bunch of diagrams and Metapoint slideshows for my Civil War Gettysburg battle recreation project. 

Outflank. Rush. Retreat. It's like chess or football.....some people don’t get this game, but it’s fascinating to me. Lose the battle, win the war. 

Anyway, so I scanned the attack logs on the firewall. Much to my surprise, instead of the usual sneering from Scratch and 1337 attitudes from the rest, all I saw were the closest thing you could ever get to warm fuzzies from people you would prolly never meet in fleshspace. "come back come back five and dime whatever, C!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!", said one from mello (ha ha, I am poor diet poster child, he is Ritalin poster child), " urchins are lost without you!!!!!!!!!! BACK BACK BACK NOW NOW!!" 

Someday I will be ruler of the world, and I will outlaw exclamation point keys on keyboards. But at that second, plugging back in, I knew I was home again. 

And it felt okay.