The other day, I posted a rather bewildering entry that was more for me than for others. Forgive me if you read it and found it indulgent. It was. The internet is still a pretty baffling place for me. I understand the technical side of it- how it works. It's the etiquette of a place where I don't really exist that boggles my mind. In the real world, I can look around and what is polite to do and what is not polite to do are pretty self-explanatory (though, some of the younger generation seem to have a hard time figuring it out). On the internet, I have no reference for what is appropriate and what isn't. Basically, who am I here and what am I supposed to do once I'm finished reading the news?
I have a Facebook page that I never look at, a Twitter feed that became overwhelming and so sits following people for no one, an email account that has over five-thousand unread messages and an Amazon.com account that probably gets the most use of anything I have a password for on the internet. I know this makes me seem like I'm a middle-aged man...but I'm not. I'm twenty-four and grew up differently than a lot of people. At least, I think that's what it is. Maybe my formative years weren't any different than most people's but left me budding strangely.
When people text me, I call them back. Usually, to no answer and then another text. Why? Why wouldn't the person just pick up the phone and have a two minute conversation instead of texting back-and-forth for ten minutes? It just doesn't make a lot of sense to me. SO, if my posts seem too pedantic or...heaven forbid...literary...I apologize. But, at the same time- I don't. Please, text me if that's how you like to communicate but text me and I'm calling you. End of story. It makes more sense to me and probably always will.
That last post was good for me. I went home after work and immediately saw the first thing that I NEED to do. It's embarassing but...my room needs a serious overhaul.
I've always had a messy room. ALWAYS. There may have been a cumulative two weeks during my whole life when it was clean. When it's clean, I always feel better, like the rest of my life is responding to the new found order in my most personal space. The mystery, then, is why can't I keep it in that more positive state? In a hurry, or not thinking, I place one thing out of order. The rest crumbles. My room looks like Corey Delaney threw a party in it.
This ends now. Finally, I will assimilate into myself one of my father's favorite phrases, "Everything a place and everything in its place." Not that it didn't make sense before, now I just have the resolve to break myself of the untidy part of me. Or, maybe it won't be thrown away completely but repurposed.
