I’m like an old person shoved inside a 34 year-old’s body. Actually, no, I’m sort of like an eighteenth century person. Yeah, it’s that bad. I type here on a laptop, but I’d rather write by typewriter. Or on some beautiful paper, with a goose quill pen. By candlelight. Ahhhh.
“What time is it?”, demanded an elderly lady of me as I sat in a waiting room. “Um, I don’t know,” I said, glancing at my wrist as if to prove that, indeed, I really didn’t have a watch. I could see she was waiting for me to whip out a cell phone or some other IGadget to give her the information she wanted. I scanned the walls for a clock. She continued to bore through my skull with her stare. “Uh, I’ll go ask the receptionist.”
I’ve been laughed at when I’ve asked a clerk where the nearest pay phone was. She just handed me her cell phone the way I would hand a tissue to someone who had sneezed into their hands. Like, here, let me rescue you from your unfortunate lack of foresight. You poor thing, don’t leave home without it next time!
We don’t have a television either; haven’t for nigh fifteen years (except a TV in Chile which didn’t get any channels and was used for watching movies). So when I read the news, the headlines that I guess are supposed to grab me with intrigue merely leave me saying, “Kardashian? Is that a name or a type of wool?” All that I’ve gathered about her is that apparently she is famous and everyone wants to know more about her. Does she sing? Is she a celebrated writer? Is there a reason she’s famous?
So, I’m halfway through Twelve Steps to Becoming a Hermit I guess. Especially when I went off the Facebook grid. If you someday find this blog deleted or stagnating, you’ll know I graduated and can be found meditating on top of a pole. Please bring me food, I’ll probably be hungry.
I can’t handle TV. The jarring, jazzy nature of it. News of a brutal murder followed by a peppy, and incongruously sexy, ad for laundry detergent. What? And all this celebrity gossip; was it somehow forgotten that these are flesh and blood people like us? That they have feelings and sorrows and souls? The “newspeople” picking them apart remind me of carrion birds; their laughter grates. How does this entertain? Is this the new coliseum? I remember years back when friends of ours showed us an episode of American Idol, where some poor soul sang off-tune and were, predictably, chewed-up and spit-out by the sneering judges. I felt sick.
I have no stomach for the killing of souls, sneer by sneer.
So, yeah, I might be a little backwards, but forwards isn’t looking all that great.