I was one of the first kids to use a personal computer at my elementary school. (Yeah, I’m that old.) Got my picture in the local paper and everything. I rocked Lemonade Stand and Oregon Trail like nobody’s business. When I got my own Radio Shack computer, I even wrote simple computer programs. In high school I was a wiz with the Macs in the journalism room. I rarely had to ask my students for help with my new laptop when I taught junior high. And then things changed…
I don’t know what happened. Perhaps a traumatic technology related tragedy occurred, and my mind has blocked it out. Maybe it was that Fatal Monkey Virus that killed my computer in the nineties. I’m not sure, but somehow I went from computer literate to technologically-challenged.
I now suffer from Click Fear. There’s something final about clicking those cyber buttons. Will I lose everything I just worked on? Do I really want to ‘send’ this? I mean does what I just typed sound dirty? In some cases dirty would be a bonus, but when you’re emailing your son’s teacher, not so much. Why does the computer keep second-guessing me? No, I am not sure I want to ‘place that order.’ Internet shopping is always a gamble. Why am I conversing with an inanimate object? Where did that screen go – the one I was just on? I haven’t even clicked anything yet. If I ‘click here’ am I going to have to wade through eighteen pop-up ads and wait ten minutes for the page to download?
And there’s nothing worse than finally making that decision to click and nothing happens. That’s when I over compensate. Click²³ and now my computer won’t respond until the year 2062. Each computer journey leaves me sweaty and in need of Xanax. If it weren’t for undo, ctrl+alt+delete, and back arrows, I think I’d be uploading Fatal Monkey Viruses on all of my computers.
Now that I’m going to be published (yay), I find myself needing to build a website and join Facebook (yikes). The whole idea of Facebook terrifies me. I come from a family of conspiracy theorists and I live in a small town. I’m quite certain everything I do on there can and will be used against me. I’ve been on it for ten about minutes and I’ve already had six Facebook related anxiety attacks. Why does it only show my big shiny forehead when I post? Did my pastor see that dirty joke I just ‘liked?’ How do I delete that picture my friend posted of me that looks like I’m having a seizure? Is Big Brother watching me now? Who am I kidding? He’s been watching me since I tried to research how to kill someone and make it look like a heart attack. (Writing novels sends you down some strange roads.)
I thought I had shed my neurotic tendencies when I entered my thirties. Apparently they decided to hang on a while longer. But I’m old enough now that I know better than to let them win out. I’m working to get over my Click Fear and Facebook Phobia. I may need to take up yoga and switch to decaf, but I’ll get there.
I don’t know what happened. Perhaps a traumatic technology related tragedy occurred, and my mind has blocked it out. Maybe it was that Fatal Monkey Virus that killed my computer in the nineties. I’m not sure, but somehow I went from computer literate to technologically-challenged.
I now suffer from Click Fear. There’s something final about clicking those cyber buttons. Will I lose everything I just worked on? Do I really want to ‘send’ this? I mean does what I just typed sound dirty? In some cases dirty would be a bonus, but when you’re emailing your son’s teacher, not so much. Why does the computer keep second-guessing me? No, I am not sure I want to ‘place that order.’ Internet shopping is always a gamble. Why am I conversing with an inanimate object? Where did that screen go – the one I was just on? I haven’t even clicked anything yet. If I ‘click here’ am I going to have to wade through eighteen pop-up ads and wait ten minutes for the page to download?
And there’s nothing worse than finally making that decision to click and nothing happens. That’s when I over compensate. Click²³ and now my computer won’t respond until the year 2062. Each computer journey leaves me sweaty and in need of Xanax. If it weren’t for undo, ctrl+alt+delete, and back arrows, I think I’d be uploading Fatal Monkey Viruses on all of my computers.
Now that I’m going to be published (yay), I find myself needing to build a website and join Facebook (yikes). The whole idea of Facebook terrifies me. I come from a family of conspiracy theorists and I live in a small town. I’m quite certain everything I do on there can and will be used against me. I’ve been on it for ten about minutes and I’ve already had six Facebook related anxiety attacks. Why does it only show my big shiny forehead when I post? Did my pastor see that dirty joke I just ‘liked?’ How do I delete that picture my friend posted of me that looks like I’m having a seizure? Is Big Brother watching me now? Who am I kidding? He’s been watching me since I tried to research how to kill someone and make it look like a heart attack. (Writing novels sends you down some strange roads.)
I thought I had shed my neurotic tendencies when I entered my thirties. Apparently they decided to hang on a while longer. But I’m old enough now that I know better than to let them win out. I’m working to get over my Click Fear and Facebook Phobia. I may need to take up yoga and switch to decaf, but I’ll get there.
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