Living without wifi for three weeks makes you think about things differently.

Evenings in my apartment have looked something like this:

"Erin, you've used 90% of your data allotted for this month, but don't worry, we'll tack on an extra gb for $15," signed, your pals at AT&T. Which I translate as, "we don't really care about you, we only love you for your money. Use more, Erin. USE MORE," and then I dive back into the world of Instagram, picturing a counter above my head ticking the dollars away with each passing post. Was that Urban Outfitters cat picture really worth fifty cents?

When I tell people I survive on 2gb a month, I get that wide-eyed look. You know the one. (You're probably giving it to me now.) Wifi and data seem like everyday commodities these days, and going without creates a disconnect between you and the world. On top of that, I've been turning my phone off just to give my mind a rest.

So, why am I doing this? Well, mostly it's an experiment to see if I will write and read more without the constant distraction of TV shows, politics, and social media. I'm also moving into a new house in a month, and I canceled early to avoid additional fees. Let's be honest, it was mostly the latter.

The biggest challenge has been limiting my Spotify streaming at home. I'm always listening to music, so I've been relying a lot on my vinyl collection. I now know my lunch break is over when I've finished the A-side of The Shins' Heartworms. Who knew you could measure time by a needle?

If you walked through my door last Sunday night, you would've found me sprawled out on my living room floor surrounded by my albums, examining the cover art, design, and composition of each record. Collecting vinyl has been a tradition in my family, and it's nice that most artists still release everything on vinyl . Even cassettes are making a comeback, and I've been considering digging out my old Walkman. Then again, cassettes aren't as attractive as records. There's something about the shape and sound of a record that trumps all other listening platforms.

A friend once explained the reason vinyl is so much more enjoyable is the physical interaction between the music and the listener. It's not just a cli ck of a button. You have to get up from your chair, pull the record out of the sleeve, place it on the turntable, and then set the needle in motion. It's also the only platform that requires practice. You have to learn how to set the arm down and when and where to drop it. You can always spot a vinyl virgin by their timing. It's very easy to miss that first mark and send the needle flying past the first few opening seconds of a song.

Vinyl and cassettes share one important similarity. There's a visible break in the album, a silent interlude between Side A and Side B. When a side ends, the record stops spinning and the table clicks off. That click urges the listener to return to the music and continue to Side B. In a sense, the listener and the music share a relationship. The listener guides the music and the music relies on the listener.

For a solid five minutes, I unconsciously stared into the swirling black pool of The Dark Side of the Moon, reflecting on the purpose and meaning of sides. What causes an artist to place an album on the A-side versus the B-side? Is it merely popularity, or does the album flow better with that song at the end of the album? Is one side really better than the other? How do B-side songs feel about being on the lesser half of the album? Songs don't have feelings, Erin. Stop it.

When records were first created, the sides had no significance. Over time, record companies urged artists to select their intended radio hits for the A-side which led to where we are today. However, sometimes artists chose not to select a B-side at all, and instead labeled both as "A", a double-A side record. This later turned into a running joke as artists began releasing double-B side singles. Perhaps this was their way of saying sides don't mean anything and we can do what we want. Then you have bands like Metric who released their single, "Help, I'm Alive" with the B-side, "Help, I'm a B-Side." Even though B-sides have a bad rap, there have been quite a few top-charting hits from the underside. Labeling sides almost seems to be more of a technicality than an intentional decision.

Labeling sides almost seems to be more of a technicality than an intentional decision.

With all this extra time on my hands, I've been reading Paul D. Miller's Rhythm Science. (If anything, you should pick this book up for the design - the inside is shaped like a record.) A writer by day and DJ Spooky by night, Miller has some interesting ideas about patterns in music. As he spins, he creates his own flow and order of music, drawing the listener into his world. He explains, "the order of the tracks is a mode of figuring out which configuration would draw people into my mindset [...] I want to breathe a little life into the passive relationship we have with the objects around us." As a DJ, he's constantly interacting with the music. Knowing where each song rests on an album is key.

I imagine DJs understand music in a much different light than the average listener or performer. It's a constant game of analyzing, mixing, and reacting. Like performers, they set the stage and mood, but instead of creating from scratch, they navigate through a sea of sounds. They read records like maps, and if a record is truly a map, then there has to be some purpose in each side.

I think sides bring out the duality of humanity. You've heard, "there are two sides to every story", and I think the same goes for albums. Some days, all my Side-A songs are playing, and I'm on top of the world. Other days, it's all Side-Bs, with a few hits here and there, but it's definitely not my best work. Together, they make up one story, one character chugging her way through life. The positive and negative traits balance out in the center somewhere between the two sides, where we sit waiting for the click so that we can flip the record over and over again.

Sides are complicated, often not explained by reading lyrics, album commentaries, or artist bios. Sides are made up of rare gems as well as the junk we hide in drawers, where the good songs and the bad songs scrape up against one another. No record is without flaw. The order is set, but we get to choose what track to listen to and how we're going to listen to it. It's just a matter of accepting the bad with the good.