I have given the day over to thought and, somewhat, to fancy. My body still doesn't do as I ask and, much of the day, I've been stuck in a ball, clutching my gut in agony. It's not doctor-seeking painful yet, and from past experiences I know it will fade, but it's still a bit of misery.
But, as I was saying, I've been letting my mind go today. The air is cold, the wind has changed from howling to refreshing, and the snow is gone though the sky remains white-grey. It's a lonely looking day and, really, a lonely-feeling day, which got me to thinking about lonlieness, particularly my own.
I think the internet has spoiled me. Such easy communication, flicking on a messenger service and chatting. I remember, still, a year and a half without the internet. I read. I dreamed. I wrote. I did all manner of things, but all on my own. More than that, though, I didn't mind the solitude. My computer, for the most part, remained off. I lounged on my living room couch, watched old films, studied, worked. I was much more industrious and, I think, a great deal more satisfied.
Now, I expect there to always be someone on the other end of the connection. I expect immediate companionship. I wonder, just a bit, if this is some sort of addiction. Or is it just a bad habit?
Digital fulfillment does not exist. That much I have concluded on. Digital communication only breeds a desire for actual communication which, in some individuals, is a greater anxiety than solitude.
Puzzling....puzzling....
But, as I was saying, I've been letting my mind go today. The air is cold, the wind has changed from howling to refreshing, and the snow is gone though the sky remains white-grey. It's a lonely looking day and, really, a lonely-feeling day, which got me to thinking about lonlieness, particularly my own.
I think the internet has spoiled me. Such easy communication, flicking on a messenger service and chatting. I remember, still, a year and a half without the internet. I read. I dreamed. I wrote. I did all manner of things, but all on my own. More than that, though, I didn't mind the solitude. My computer, for the most part, remained off. I lounged on my living room couch, watched old films, studied, worked. I was much more industrious and, I think, a great deal more satisfied.
Now, I expect there to always be someone on the other end of the connection. I expect immediate companionship. I wonder, just a bit, if this is some sort of addiction. Or is it just a bad habit?
Digital fulfillment does not exist. That much I have concluded on. Digital communication only breeds a desire for actual communication which, in some individuals, is a greater anxiety than solitude.
Puzzling....puzzling....