A college student devoid of modern technological advances, things my peers and I believe to be utter necessities of daily life, is a scary thought. So when I told my friends that I'd been assigned to write a story that required me to live without technology for the weekend — no cell phone, no computer, no iPod — their response was predictable: “Oh, my God! Why would you take that assignment?" With their reactions in mind and apprehension about the upcoming few days gnawing at me, I spent Friday night in ResComp trying to finish anything I might need the Internet for over the weekend.

Descartes once said, “I think therefore I am.” But does it count as thinking if you don’t text it to someone or post it as a status update on Facebook? As I literally logged out for the entire weekend, I thought to myself, “Without the Internet, do I really even exist?”

As I walked to an all-day retreat for my theater and social change class the next morning sans iPod, I noticed the sound of crows for the first time outside of East Quad. I told myself I was connecting to nature, but really the disparate "ca-caws" created an atmosphere even more ominous than the mournful songs of Elliot Smith I’m usually plugged into every morning.

For the first time in my life, I was on time. Without my cell phone, I had no idea what time it was and just assumed I'd be late. Thanks to my lack of a digital clock, I had half an hour to sit and wistfully think of ironic text messages I could send my friends about how miserable I was and how I wished I was back in my dorm room.

But it ended up being a good thing that I didn't have my phone as a distraction. The retreat turned out to be an incredibly moving experience as everyone explained their reasons for taking the course, and the stories they shared about about why they were committed to social change were unforgettable. When I wasn't distracted by a constantly blinking phone, I was able to learn how to look at people differently through a clear, unadulterated lens.

Still, my fingers itched for a phone out of habit. I discovered that while 10-minute breaks don't exist solely for flipping through cell phone contacts, I missed sliding my phone open and closed and its obedient vibrations in my hand when I pressed certain buttons. Without that, I was forced to linger by the food table and eat barbeque potato chips.

The retreat ended at 5 p.m., and, thrust out into the cold street corner of South State and Huron, I yearned to call someone and deconstruct my experience. I felt shaken up by the day's events and wanted to talk to one of my friends from home to sort out what I was feeling.

I noticed a girl from my class walking my way and decided I could talk to her instead. It turned out she lives near my dorm in a church that was converted into an apartment building. She invited me over for dinner sometime. Without technology, I was forced to talk to someone right there, in the flesh and blood, rather than spend the walk home chatting into an electronic box.

I didn’t set an alarm for Sunday morning, planning to wake up when the sun hit my face. But without the familiar wake up call of my cell phone, I woke sometime in the late afternoon. My roommate, Cassie, and I decided to go to the cafeteria together to eat.

“Wait, let me get my cell phone,” Cassie said as I began to closed the door. Looking at me with realization on her face, she said in solidarity, “Nevermind, I don’t think I need it.”

As we walked down the hall, both free of technological constraints, Cassie said, "that was liberating.”

Sitting across from Cassie in the cafeteria, I felt liberated too. But I also felt a little anxious. Worries kept flying through my head. What if I had work today? Did my boss e-mail me? How could she call me? What if I’m fired? When was my French essay due again?

After breakfast, Cassie and I parted ways to study in different places with different people, but planned to meet again at 7 p.m. for dinner.

“How are we going to do that, though?” I asked with genuine concern.

“I guess like in the olden days, with a time and a place,” Cassie said after a moment of quiet reflection. And so we decided to meet at a coffee shop in Kerrytown later that day.

I walked to the library where I was planning to study in the interim with an extra bounce in my step. My backpack was lighter without my laptop and I felt good about our plan. It seemed more concrete than our usual “call me” variety.

But at 6:45 p.m., the friend I was studying with received a call. It was Cassie. She wanted me to know that the place we had planned to meet was closed, and that she’d meet me back in our room instead. Even though I hadn't used the phone directly, I still felt the guilt of cheating. It served as a reminder of the undeniable conveniences of modern communication.

When I woke up Monday morning, the first thing I did was turn on my cell phone.