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).
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.
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