Electronic keyboards: banned and demoted. [Really?]
My Keyboard, My Precious. Our relationship has become to serious...It isn't you, it is me...I need some time apart.
“Dear God, in Heaven above, I implore you to give me strength and resolve. The agony of being me can be completely overwhelming and ridiculous. Please help me to stop relying on communicating with others via keypads— shying away from live conversation. Please help me, Lord. I need your divine intervention with my e-dependence.”
In your name I pray,
Karen.
* * *
Being new in a city and state may be exacerbating this condition of mine. Before I moved to Boston this past June, I was a casual user—daily hits. Now I am a junkie, an addict. I am a habitual user and abuser of electronic communication. I may need to go to e-hab. Like, now.
The amount of times in a day, no—make that an hour, that I look at my phone’s tiny screen (just have a regular clamshell without internet access) to see if I received a text is shameful. When I’m not looking at my phone for some kind of status check, I am perusing all of my different email (three or more) accounts, giving my neglected Twitter account a glance, or logging into Facebook (FB)—where I have not just one, but two pages: my regular one and my “fan page”.
Check, check, check,…check, and effin check some more. Breathe. Repeat. Pathetic.
All of these activities are accomplishing the same thing—answering the similar types of haunting questions: has anyone thought of me, needed my assistance, tried to get hold of me, or paying me some kind of attention. Me, me, me. Is this the result of my parents ignoring the crap out of me and wishing I weren’t around while I was growing up? An arrested development of some kind?
Many of my friends exhibit like symptoms. I just fear that this flaw—this personality ailment of mine—may be worse than most people’s. However, I’m not sure if there is any consolation in knowing that I am not alone. Besides, I never get the slightest amount of relief in any situation by simply realizing someone may be worse off than me—that isn’t comforting to me. I don’t get happy that way.
You should see the look on my face and feel the sadness in my heart when I have no new texts, emails, FB inbox messages or comments to my status lines. Wind out of my sails. Crestfallen.
* * *
If I were to go to e-hab, what would it be like? At check-in, the staff would have to search my body and bags for electronic keyboard contraband. I can see a nurse yanking my tiny, pink clamshell phone out of my duffle and saying, “You won’t be needing this, Ms. Jones.”
I can only imagine 28 days without my social crutches. I would be lame and on the ground, unable to get up.
My hands would have to turn to a new activity, to keep them busy. I can see a group of e-junkies sitting around at night doing puppet shows to pass the time and keep straight. Another few would be spotted with a flashlight and sporting shadow puppets on the wall. All of trying to get better in this alternate universe.
As my e-hab came to a close, I would have re-learned how to make the effort of having personal, one-to-one communication sans typing whenever possible, even when it wouldn’t be easy or convenient. No longer would I shrink away from that “chore” of having to talk with others without an electronic message system involved.
* * *
“Dear God, May I please make some new friends in this city if I don’t always have my face nestled in my laptop or my thumbs glued to my cell phone? I desperately need some live conversation.”
With love,
Karen