Recluse
There are days I hate the bane that is technology—communication technology.
Don’t get me wrong—I love my shit and all, but lately, it’s just too much trouble in my life. There are times I’d ignore the vibrating in my pocket, just so I wouldn’t have to deal with the texts about this shit and that crap. Fine if it were good news, but more often than not, it’s a “do this,” “do that,” “answer this shit,” “why is nothing happening?,” “we have a problem,” “gimme a call,” “I don’t like this.” Fuck you.
Gimme a break. I can’t keep up.
I mean, sure, it’s got a lot of good bits. (Temple Run, anyone?) But you can’t really ignore the dozens of notifications, which are all aimed at your re-stressing. Stressed na nga, sine-stress ka pa. Seriously, there are days when I just wanna throw my phone out the window. But I can’t—they say “Don’t shoot the messenger.” And I agree: I’m not putting a bullet through my new iPhone.
I think my friends have been noticing how I’ve practically been ranting at my phone. Yes, at my phone:
*luis takes out phone, reads message, shouts at it with the requisite growling. friends nod in observation. luis goes on in a tirade of *^#$$^@#!
Sounds funny… but if you were in my place, you wouldn’t be laughing.
Not even Facebook is safe. You’d think it’s all fun and games on your social network. But it’s become so flexible, you have work following you around. Gahd.
To be honest, I really just can’t keep up. It’s like dropping a mountain of paper on my desk. I don’t even know where to start. Things just pile up while you just want to breathe. (Or maybe my life is just so disorganized? Nah.)
When did I ever get so attached to it anyway? I miss my 90s childhood where my only form of communication was the landline and the call to the beeper company. Otherwise, you’d have to lay the shit on me in person—not that there was shit to be laid in my childhood.
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