the nature of addiction.

I got sucked in by the hype about a month ago - 'microblogging' they called it.  Where everyone can share their inner thoughts in short bursts and everyone else can read them and respond appropriately (or inappropriately, if the mood hits you).

Failwhale

I signed up for a Twitter account and got to work trying to dismantle my life and feed it to the masses piece by piece.  Scrambler Biggs and his wife were on there, so I had a couple of people to reach out to in those early days.  As time has passed, though, I have picked up more and more interesting Twitter-feeds that I follow and respond to - including such engaging people as Wil Wheaton and John Cleese.  Slowly, I was forced to succumb to the addiction.

But nothing golden stays, as the old saying goes, and I continually find myself teetering between joy and panic as I am greeted by what's been dubbed the Failwhale more often than I am greeted by the microblogging habits of those individuals whom I choose to follow.

When I meet St. Peter at the pearly gates, I'm going to have a few questions for him.  The first thing I'll ask him, of course, is why I wasn't born with the same mutant powers as Wolverine.  The second will be 'how does a service as popular as Twitter remain popular despite it's frequent downtimes?'

Half-heartedly, I am seeking out other options for this newly-ingrained habit of mine, other forums within which to cough up my passing thoughts and fancies.  But for now, it seems, I am just going to have to forge on and accept the knowing smile of that jackass whale.