PHOTOGRAPH BY MICHAEL S. QUINTON / NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC / GETTY

I’ve left the city to go live in a shack in the woods. I didn’t bring my phone, computer, or dog (he has a G.P.S. chip in him). Out here in the wild, there’s no Internet, cell service, or even electricity. I’m officially off the grid!

After I get settled in at the shack, I go for a hike. I see an owl that looks just like Chris Pine. I want to Instagram him, but obviously can’t. At first this frustrates me, but then I realize that Chris Pine Owl probably doesn’t want to be online. He’s better than that. He’s not just one more Instagram bird of prey who resembles a B-list actor.

I catch some fish for dinner. Or, rather, I find a couple dead fish floating in a sort of stagnant part of a nearby creek. I want to cook the fish without using the matches and Duraflame log I brought, but I’m unable to watch any online tutorials, so I shamefully take the easy route. I eat the worst meal of my life and vomit for several hours.

The next morning, I awake from a dream in which I received an e-mail from my boss with the subject heading “PUT OUT THIS FIRE!!!” I flail around looking for my phone before remembering where I am. Outside, the Duraflame is still smoldering. Several animals howl.

I drink some water from the part of the creek that is actually moving. Then I swim in it, naked. It feels amazing. I hear a man yelling. I thought I was alone, but I turn and see a family having a picnic in an adjacent clearing. The man demands I put on a bathing suit. I ask him if he is also writing a personal essay about living off the grid. He threatens to call the park service. I ask how he would do that, and he says that there’s a pay phone at the trailhead, a quarter mile away.

I do some sketching to pass the time. I try to draw Chris Pine Owl, but it doesn’t look like Chris Pine or an owl. I’m bored as crap.

I begin to feel phantom vibrations in my pants pocket, but when I try to reach for my phone I realize I am still naked. Maybe I should’ve brought my phone to take pictures to upload later. What if I see an opossum that looks just like Zachary Quinto? No one will believe me.

I’m starving. I find some berries, but I can’t consult the “Edible Berry or Nah” Twitter account, so I’m rolling the dice. The berries do little to sate my hunger. I find some mushrooms. I wonder if there’s a “Hallucinogenic Mushroom or Nah” Twitter account, but of course that’s moot. I’m washing wild mushrooms in a stream, naked; I feel pure, untethered, free. I see a heron (I think) that kind of looks like the character actor Paul Ben-Victor, but it’s a stretch. “Birds are just birds, man,” I say out loud, to myself.

I eat the mushrooms and wander back to the shack. I start to feel all floaty and weird. I think I’m falling asleep, but I’m not sure. At dusk, I hear the beasts of the wild calling for me. I leave the shack, but instead of finding a bunch of animals I come upon a tree stump with a built-in phone-charging station and Wi-Fi hot spot. I go to plug my phone in, but the cord slithers around my arm. I try to free myself, but it tightens its grasp, and then more cords get hold of me. Cords are coming straight out of the ground—they’re not even plugged into a surge protector!

I am installed at a farm of human bodies, into whom the grid is directly plugged. We are servicing some distant interest, probably alien, although it might just be Verizon. I want to say hi to my neighbor, mere feet from me, but I cannot speak. The bundle of semiconductors that has been run down my throat has left me mute and quite parched. I really want a Vitaminwater.

I regain consciousness near the pay phone at the trailhead. I’m nude and filthy, clutching what’s left of the Duraflame log. My brother-in-law has come to pick me up—he says I called him collect. We stop at an Internet café in town. I check my e-mail and social media.

I immediately want to go off the grid again.