On a dark, dark, night there was a dark, dark forum and in the dark, dark forum was a dark, dark thread and in the dark, dark thread someone had written that there is no such thing as too much time online.
It was not a bad post – it was essentially about easing up on oneself about something which may, actually, be productive.
In essence I support this idea: the ‘whole lotta loafin’’ to do anything properly. I’d encourage people to let themselves off the hook and just faff around a bit. Life is short, but if it’s too full then it’s the quiet moments that will be lost.
I began writing a reply to that effect, but then I decided to stop. I cancelled the reply.
I realised I disagreed.
I disagreed because spending too much time on a forum is not loafing. It’s not the equivalent of sitting reading because it’s interactive, and it feeds on itself. The poster feeds other users and they feed the original poster. It’s easy to get carried away and live on chatrooms and forums.
That’s not what I call life, though. It rarely extends beyond the screen and rarely, if ever, involves other members of the household. The effect is of someone being there but not present. It’s like having a junkie in the house (without the drug-taking artefacts). It’s pretty spooky.
So why did I have this sycophantic urge to write a supportive post to something about which I fundamentally disagree?
It’s not an isolated case, either. I generally lack the courage to speak up when I disagree or if I have to openly disagree, I try to make it sound like agreement.
Well, I blame my parents. Actually, that’s not true, I blame myself. I blame myself for wanting to be all things to all people despite knowing that that just isn’t possible, always hoping that I’ll stumble into a kindred spirit somewhere.
So for all my realisation that I was doing again what I’ve done before, the original poster is further along the path to truth (or whatever?) than me, simply by stating what he or she wants to do for his or herself, instead of insisting that everyone else is right.
Faced with a challenge, time and again, I crumble and accept someone else’s version of events that happened before my eyes.
That has to stop.