Looks like I’m not the only one to have returned to the birdsite at a moment when everything that prompted my leaving it has arguably intensified to a peak; Ryan Oakley’s back, as well.
(We’ll let you know when the other two horsemen of this particularly inverted apocalypse are on their way, assuming we ever work out who they are.)
As always, Ryan’s got a keen eye on the innerscape:
The other weird thing, after being gone from it for so long, is the amount of real estate just installing and having the app takes up in my head. There’s now a part of my mind labeled TWITTER. It feels like a ball located to the back right of my mind. Feels like a little monkey sitting on my shoulder. Coaxing me into tweeting. Into thinking about what and when I will tweet. Rubbing his grubby little hands all over my thoughts and experiences, trying to get them into tweetable form. I suspect that I was once accustomed to this little monkey. I’m not accustomed to him anymore. I frankly do not care all that much for him. He’s fucking distracting. He’s a useless little fucker. The monkey is on notice. Grim little shit.
Yeah, I can relate. I’ve very deliberately not put the app on my phone. Tweetdeck is back as a Chromium app on my laptop, but the frequency of the temptation to either a) rubberneck at whatever the car-crash cruelty-of-the-moment might be, or b) to pronounce some seemingly profound witticism already has me thinking that I might set up some sort of time-bounded blockage of the site using a combination of cron and iptables; I’ve told myself that I’m back in the bearpit for professional reasons (which is the truth, though surely not the whole truth—this year has been lonely as hell for a number of reasons, and it’s nice to be in touch again with friends who simply aren’t easily accessible by other means), but if it’s going to be a useful tool rather than a destructive distraction, then some sort of formalised protocol or discipline of usage will be necessary.
(On a related note, while I’m very pleased with the huge improvements to both my work and personal life achieved through various forms of ritual and routine ((the pages being the foremost, but far from the only manifestation thereof)), it feels like I’ve hit a limit on that overarching strategy, which might best be seen as something like the canalisation of a very temperamental river for the purposes of maintaining a regular freight schedule. But the seasonality of the river remains… and a combination of reading around, observation and talking to people suggests that said fluxion is unusually severe in my case, and furthermore that many of those who experience a similar severity have been identified as having ADHD. My long-term reluctance to engage with systems of formal pathology diagnosis notwithstanding, I’m now wondering if I should talk to a doctor about that.)