Click on the internet icon. Need to write, the urge is here but I also need to chat. Don't talk to anyone these days apart from immediate family; some days I have to think whether I have in fact said anything other than a passing greeting or responded to a question with other than a "yes" or "no". And there have been days when I know I've not spoken a single word?

The few friendships formed down on the coast abandoned. A lifetime thing, moving away and leaving people behind. It has become increasingly easier this detachment; my equating friendships with locations and time-portions; physical separation in turn translating into emotional endings.

Nor have I formed any new friendships back in the city so far. Perhaps because for the first time in my life I have discovered 'online communication' and its many wonders? I can hop in and out of lives scattered around the globe, and this fascinates me no end. Why had I not caught on to this miracle earlier? Oh the merits! People behind screens cannot see me! They cannot see disheveled me sipping long-cold coffee, they can't tell my brief absence was a sprint downstairs to check on dad and more recently mum and puff on a cigarette? Or see me toggling between screens checking on other things as I await their typed responses?

Second "Ping!" Note it's my offsider popping on with his initial "oi" followed by "Are you there?" I respond with an "oi" of my own. Begin a conversation that could possibly last half an hour or continue on and off for 24; both of us forgoing sleep, engrossed either in philosophical musings (mostly from me and responded to by him - in context with his own much shorter life) or his wanting answers to one of life's many mysteries, or my editing some work of his or... the giggling fits as my over the knees stabbing at where I imagine keys to be results in hilarious made-up words.

The fact he's only a year older than Dylan is irrelevant. This being the true wonder of the internet! A kid hours behind me in time and decades behind me in age connecting and choosing to have me in his daily life as mentor, confidant, friend, fellow writer... and oftentimes, the sillier of the two?

I do forget his age. Treat him as an adult, as an equal. Perhaps it is this which keeps him returning? I treat him as I do my sons now. Whenever his lack of insight or experience arises, we discuss it at great length, seeking ways to fill gaps. After nearly a hundred thousand messages between us we know each other so well we often pre-empt replies before the questions are typed? There is hilarity when this happens and a plea from one to the other to "Get out of my head!"

Am I making a positive impact? I think so. I know he is learning to procrastinate less, believe in himself more and emerge out of the various personae he has hid behind so long. It is not easy this life of his. Though it's not been as marred by tragedy and mishaps as my own, he deals with everyday problems I have never lived. Things I take for granted here are unimaginable where he is. I too am learning. Look at a jar of Nuttela now and fully understand how spoilt and privileged I am. Burning a dollar every time I light a cigarette. A dollar! This twenty pack would feed a family for a week some places yet I turn it into ashes over and over. Shame and humility frequent emotions in me these days.

He tells me something I don't know, bringing my mind back from its reverie: Wattpad stories with a 'mature' rating do not get rankings in the 'HOT' list. Huh!

"I thought you knew!"

"No??!!"

"Why do you think your Memoir and the two Bite Me books never show up there?"

"I don't look? I don't bother with ratings?"

"Go see which ones have the mature tag on."

A click on the open Wattpad tab and I seek out my works to date. Sure enough, everything bar 'A Mother's Journey', 'Life Lessons', 'Damn Aussie Bush' and the more recent 'LOF' have been tagged by me as mature.

"But I swear in them! I say fuck and bloody and shit!!!"

"Check the guidelines?"

"Huh?"

"The link right next to the mature tag???"

"There's a link?"

Go back and sure enough, notice the link for the first time. Click on it. Discover that as far as Wattpad is concerned, language doesn't even get a mention. Read the guidelines carefully, at the same time applying them to my work. All excluding the Memoir and Elle fall well within the non-mature tag? Hmmm.

"Ping!" I glance up at the former tab, still mulling over at Wattpad. See the other's name and a message alert flashing. I mentally calculate the time difference and figure out where he could be this moment - learning his movements intimately the past year.

Now I have two message boxes open side by side. The three of us aware of this since we are the only 'friends'. Protégé is polite, allowing me time to chat with the other. That's not always the case - sometimes we are so deeply engrossed in a discussion it cannot be put aside so I end up toggling between both message boxes, engaged in two very different conversations.

"Hoping your day is going well dear. I'm doing some reading and writing. Then some chores. Will catch up with you laters."

"My day just started remember?" I have mentioned this at least a few dozen times - but still he forgets?

"lol"

"So you are good?" Ask because I ache to prolong our conversation. We have good days and bad days between us, this looking like a bad one; a long silence boding between the now early morning message and the one to follow late at night his time. If at all it follows.

"Woke up with a headache. Didn't get much sleep."

"When do you ever? lol" Offered up because sleep is not the average welcomed rest and respite for either of us.

"lol"

I get it. Short responses say he's in no mood to chat. Whatever mood he's in, I am to have no part in it. We're at this stage in the cycle, just checking in and checking out leaving a 'thumbs up' sign behind. Leaving me with every kind of question, including the big one: Why are we IN this cycle? The possibility I instigate it swatted away.

On average I spend at least 16 hours a day in front of this screen, the 40" monitor big enough so that I can lie in bed when my back has had enough and chat or write from there. Third cordless keyboard and mouse in as many months has given up however so the past week meant more time sitting than I normally do. Gave in yesterday in a heap of tears - my back protesting most obnoxiously - and got Dylan to order me a more expensive set online which he said will last a lot longer than the supermarket bought ones. These are the small things I don't often share, I realise.

The big things... Might mention a few of them in passing, that's the beauty of the internet. Though he who purports to love me made the comment some weeks back, "You never talk about your life dear." I guess I don't. What's there to say? "I have varying degrees of bad days, some downright awful ones and rarely one I might describe as good overall?" That be my problem. Not his. "I need you happy. I feed off your happiness." This, I don't tell him.

Moments only... mostly with the boys. Brief instances when we are out there together and we joke and I laugh - perhaps too much because I rarely laugh outside those moments and one needs the release laughter brings? I tell the one I profess to love that "I am good" nonetheless, which gets me off the hook more often than not. Then ask how he is, deflecting attention away from me. Unfair, sure. But it's a defense used so long I have no understanding how to remove it? He can't see me. He believes what I say, just as I believe his words.

"Laters!" I sign off, the exclamation mark hiding the fact tears well. Hey I am happy, look, I am telling you this! I pause a moment to regroup but end up glancing at the wall above again, frowning at his face. "No, I'm not good at all."

Times I do break, writing great slabs he struggles to process; others I might post a song or a quote - even a story on Wattpad reflecting my mood or state of mind (despite his not knowing what Wattpad is; thus a haven for me - even from him?) Hints. Rarely, I send chapter-length emails - these attempts to get him inside, where the emotions live and tumble about, resulting in the need to push them out, send them forth: I am lonely. That's what each email tries to say. I am a lonely, mute, miserable hermit. I need you?

"Hey," I type, resuming the paused conversation with my offsider. Calm again, my moments of temporary weakness over.

"WB" he replies, knowing full well I've never left; just took time out to chat with his neighbour. Knows not what these conversations hold except some few things I throw in, mostly crumbs of mischief on my part.

"I'm thinking of removing the mature tag from everything except Elle and the Memoir. Just to see the difference it makes???"

"I thought you didn't care about rankings?"

"I don't!!! But I also don't like being discriminated against because I am behaving responsibly? Look at what's out there!"

"Yeah? Most people don't bother to tag?"

"Exactly! I added those tags early on, when I was new to Wattpad. Thought everyone would be doing the same. Didn't know it's bloody self-policed and thus ignored???"

"So remove them, see what happens."

"Thinking about it. hey you get around to re-writing the preface?"

"Nuh, went for a jog then had dinner and watched the tennis."

"Get to it!"

See the three dancing dots and know what will follow next. Pre-empt the large paragraph coming my way, filled with any number of his usual justifications: "STOP!!!!" I type. The dancing dots cease suddenly. He gets it. A brief pause. I add "lol" to lessen the severity of my request.

"Got it haha! So you had a good sleep?"

"More like I passed out? Sorry!"

"Stop apologizing. You needed it."

"yeah yeah. Brb."

Another dash downstairs. Mum asleep finally; I hear her soft snores mixed with the odd moan. Dad sleeps too, on his side again facing the window this time.

"My posse has disappeared, you noticed?" I resume the conversation. Say this because new people are now following me and engaging, my usual group for whatever reason drifting away. Mostly the younger ones? Those long threads below my life stories have dwindled away. Make note-to-self to examine recent work and see if this is responsible. Maybe I've been too serious of late? Hard to write funny though in the midst of all the crap surrounding me right now.

"Yeah, shame."

"Yup. And it's bloody Friday?" I add knowing he understands.

"Shopping huh?"

"And the rest of it. Sigh."