dis [new tab] traction.
The extent of my adult-onset attention-span-of-a-gnat is oh so painfully obvious when I finally, at last, for the first time in weeks venture over to the tumblrsphere with the aim of writing, and the dancing, flashing Tina Fey GIFS almost make me lose my head entirely.
I want to open a coffee shop without wifi. Maybe with really old desktop computers that just run MS-DOS or even just typewriters. I know that seems hipster to the point of nausea but I have to believe that other people are having this hard of a time concentrating.
I can’t hold a thought, it seems. I’m sometimes genuinely embarrassed when I notice how many open tabs I have (just 5 right now, for the record, and that’s really low). I fought the impulse to open a tab to check on some blog about 15 seconds ago, but it’s rare that the impulse even shows me its own face. Usually my thumb folds under my palm and my middle finger strikes out in a northeasternly fashion and before you know it I’m reading about that mommy blogger who has filed for bankruptcy like four times and her husband just left her but man do her children have cute names and amazing hair. There’s even a blog written by people who hate her that’s fascinating in an entirely different, much creepier way. Until I start to feel like the creep myself for reading a blog about a blog.
I think that realization was, to use a completely loaded and not entirely relevant term, when I hit rock bottom. Or maybe it was when I webmd diagnosed myself with lupus and was about halfway through the third stage of grief when I realized that I only had one of the 284022 symptoms (red eyes) and that one symptom was probably connected more to my wearing two-month old contacts than an auto-immune disorder.
That seems more like the bottom, actually.
I need to give it a rest on the internet. Because I need to spend more time (let’s say it yet again) writing. I have been woefully unproductive recently in that realm. My reading has also suffered. I need to slow it down a little bit. I need to let my thoughts percolate. I don’t know if that means unplugging, and I realize the irony of fleshing this all out on the interwebs themselves, but I’m trying. Because I could probably be a little more productive at work sometimes. Because there are essays, poems, sketches and stories that are atrophying in some shady corner of my gray matter when I read blogs and blogs about blogs (still hurts) and mcsweeneys essays instead of producing or finally finishing that damn Woody Allen book. Some of the things I write or read might actually be, you know, good. Better than the articles on the Awl or that album review or the 87 million huffpost tweets per hour.
and how weird would that be!