I Seldom Post Because of the Internet Beast
I’m not the typical writer of this couple-crew. I’ve been known to put pen to paper. Well, fingers to keys. I haven’t written to the deep, elegant levels of my lovely wife, nevertheless, I think I should. Write. I think I should write something that tantalizes the minds of millions. I might be able to do it, but I seldom write anymore. And I know why.
Why Don't I write?
Even as I amaze myself by the fact that I am here, right now, writing a post for our site, three robust-sized monitors beam at me with all of their pixel-pumping power. On the left monitor, it’s our channel stats. The middle glue tube has Reddit and its always life-enriching content. The right monitor is this very post. A post that I’m earnestly trying to create, yet I fully expect that my now sporadic mind will be seduced by some sort of chime, banner, slide, ad, or beep and I will be gone, chasing the skirt of what some AI thinks I think are interesting things.
Oh, I’m back. A blog post doesn’t convey interruptions and pauses. But I just got pulled away from this post by “another program” chugging on my computer. You see, I was warned that the inactivity and soulless neglect I was keeping from my software was now going to cause it to forcefully disconnect. And that’s what it did. And it bitched and moaned that it did it. It left me with feelings of guilt and neglect, yet I know I can have it back with just a dab of flirtatious-like mouse-clicking and cursor control. Such a needy app. Such a giver-inner I am.
Yet, that “LOOK AT ME!” warning spawned another succulent hook of mental tastiness. It made me see the work I was doing earlier in the day. That led me to remember, “Oh yeah, I was in the middle of working on that. I was going to try…WAIT JUST A MINUTE!”
The “I-should-be-writing-more” chap who lives right next door to the “I-should-be-reading-more” chum up in the hell in my head is now screaming at me.
“NO… YOU ARE GOING TO FINISH THIS POST FIRST,” says he.
He’s so right. I have to stay on task. Must. Stay. On. Task. Ok. I’m doing it. These words right here are proof. But oh boy am I nervous to glance to my left. Right now, I’m thinking that I’m trying to hide. Trying to be quiet so she doesn’t hear me. If she does… she’ll rev up her ocular tractor beam and my goggling greens will be no match.
Who is this lady I jot about? It’s the forever-expanding Nymph of Notification. Let’s just call her Non. She is more ferocious than any brain-consuming alien bolting around the universe. She attacks with her seductive calls from everywhere now. Your phone! Your TV! Your computer! Even your car is infected by her productivity sucking lips.
I’ve been around this invisible spirit since the days when something called Gopher was the popular way to “enjoy” the internet. Although this rodent-named program was replaced by things called browsers, that furry collection of code burrowed deep into my head and left a lot of holes that are constantly being filled with corrosive mental mud. Mud that shoots out of Non’s infinite amount of tentacles extending into every corner of life.
As the warm buzz of my old fashioned mutes my fears, I do actually have to concede that I could have NOT had the cocktail. It’s probably not the solution to the problems I’ve revealed thus far. However, since the buzz, it’s been serine.
Non has been placid. Are my libations some sort of weapon? Or is it that the night hours can sometimes slow down the Non’s tenacity? I hope it’s the latter because I am pretty sure that using alcohol to cope with anything doesn’t end well.
I got to here. You got to here. I’m happy. It’s a post. Keep sleeping Nymph of Notification. I kinda like this.