Twitter: A Love Story
An unexpected anniversary is more revolting than romantic
I woke up last Thursday, checked my phone and there it was: a notification in my Twitter Mentions tab informing me that it was my 10 Year Twitter Anniversary, indicating that I had been a user of this insane app for a full decade of my life. Below a picture of the number 10, rendered in origami, was a blue button encouraging me to “Celebrate With a Tweet.”
It was 6 am, and I didn’t really want to celebrate. I wanted to vomit. What I wound up Tweeting, a little later, was this.
If I were to calculate how many hours I have spent scrolling through my Twitter feed since 2009, I’d definitely drink poison. It’s a number, like the date on which you will die or the amount of money it costs to raise a child, that you do not ever want to know. Thinking about it causes a tightness in my chest, a shortness of breath. It makes me want to hide in fetal position beneath a weighted blanket, rocking back and forth, forever.
