a prodigal blogger returns…

So.

It’s been a while. Forgive my utter revoltingness (It’s a word if you MAKE it a word, and I have) in not having updated more often. Quite terrible actually considering the absolute gusto with which I originally created the site. But, thanks to some constant and warm encouragement from two fellow bloggers in particular – the amazing Spike Wyatt (Forget what you know – Genius…ness never looked so good) & the wickedly funny and joyous Kate Gilby (Put Padme Amidala, Angelina Jolie and Wonder Woman in a blender, you get Kate Gilby: it’s science) – my gusto is henceforth renewed.

But aside from this, I’ve been thinking. A very dangerous past time in my case, because according to those who know me, I think far too much than is healthy for a normal person. My retort of course is obvious. I’m not normal. I have 15 main characters playing Celebrity Death Match in my frontal lobe, and I have a Twitter addiction the size of South America. The grey matter to which I subscribe does not really subscribe to ‘normal’ itself.

And it’s twitter, nay, technology in general, that brings me back to this. My long suffering and highly neglected blog.

It started off quite innocently. It was 10.30pm (my healthy person bed time which I almost never abide by) and as I was getting ready for bed, I went to get my mobile phone so I could set the alarm to wake me up for work the next day. I’ll admit I’m a lazy arse when it comes to this – I do have a digital actual alarm clock, but the only way I can make it show the proper time is by unplugging it and throwing on the floor multiple times, until magically the circuits realign like a million little electrical planets and the correct numbers appear in blaring, violent red to tell me to get the hell out from under the covers.

This particular evening however, to my dismay, I discovered I had left my shiny little Motorola friend on my desk at work. It was automatic. My blood stuttered. My head shook. What if one of the cleaners who had to date never shown a dishonest look sideways, suddenly found their inner criminal and nicked off with it. What would I do? How would I wake up? What if they made calls to Eastern European friends with connections in the Albanian mafia and took me over my capped monthly international call allowance?

In short, how was I to go a few hours without my phone? And I was immediately ashamed.

I grew up on a farm. Me and my sister. No boys. I can tackle cows, barrel race the hind legs off a thoroughbred, fence for 12 hours straight and still have enough energy to run away when my mum tells me it’s time to wash up after dinner. But here I was, now a city dweller of 27, freaking out and losing sleep over a stupid little piece of technology.

These are all symptoms of something our society is apparently beginning to suffer en masse: Mobile & cell phone addiction. When did we become so dependent on such a little thing? When had I become so needy for it to be there? Why? I realised with some sadness actually that I depended on it to connect me properly with the world. People to call, people to text, calendars to set up, news to check…we are a western world that for all it’s communication prowess & efficiency, doesn’t really talk anymore.

I had my little gripe with technology then. Bah humbug to Bill Gates and all his little pasty, math club friends for inventing the internet and all that (he didn’t invent it of course, I know, but you’ve got to admit he’s an excellent masthead to put on the Technology is Destroying the World ship of criminals).

I got my phone back in the end, realising my own stupidity. I smiled, put down my first coffee of the day and sat at my desk to start on my To Do list, my mobile safely in my bag but switched off in defiance.

I smiled. The crackle and tap of keys logging in to my PC were loud in my early morning office.

It all felt rather silly now. Of course I had survived. I didn’t need my mobile to remain connected with humanity at all.

After all, that’s what Twitter is for.

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