Hello! My name is David Elliott, and I am a Twitter addict. And as a part of my twelve-step program beginning with step one (admission), I have been sent here today to preach the light of my life the bane of my existence. That paragon of ganging on. The sultan of cancellation. It’s the one, the only, Twitter! Yes, folks! That’s right. You have reached peak imperfection as you delve down the bowels of Twitter into the utter depths of despair and inconsolable grief. How did I get out? What did I do? How can you avoid the perils of the “Twitter Damned” too? Follow my journey into the Purgatorio and beyond in The Confessions of an Adult Male Twitter Addict.
The Confessions Of An Adult Male Twitter Addict
How did I start there? How did I get on to Twitter? And why are sour balls so good tasting? These questions and many more can be discovered along the journey to insanity. And every good insane journey is always paved with a well of good intentions. These good intentions sound like they are good until they turn askew and you lose your bearings on reality. This story begins as all stories do with a Once Upon a Time. Whether it ends up in hell or heaven . . . let’s find out, shall we?
Once upon a time, there was a man named David. And he had a career he tried to pursue in librarianship. As a future librarian, he held much interest in all things technology. Because as technology changed the digital and information landscape, so would it change the library. It only makes sense as libraries were repositories for information.
So our said “hero,” if a hero is the best word to describe him, went on a quest to find the various technological marvels to discover. When at last he fell upon something called “social media.” Make sure you say that with the respect and reverence it deserves. So it should be like a whisper with an echo going “social media… media… media…” You’ve got it! That’s good. Moving right along.
The Valley Of The Tech Gods
There he stumbled upon such giants of the tech world like Facebook, Pinterest, as rapidly growing Instagram, and Twitter. Our hero tried out each of the platforms. Facebook seemed the most natural to him at the time. After all, he had been on My Space just a couple of years before. And he was looking to connect with family and friends on the Internet. (If you don’t know enough about the internet by this point, there’s no hope in explaining the rest of this, so you can skip along.) The rest of them sounded like interesting and usable tools. It would be ironic that our “hero” considered Twitter to be the least useful of the lot. Oh, how things change in time. And we notice the error of our ways. Maybe he should have run away then. But he did not. He kept going.
Actually, he took a hiatus from twitter altogether for years. Went through a rough patch, including a d. Made his way through the library field. He got a nice job working with teens as he had been a high school English teacher. He was well on his way to some cushy work he loved doing. It all seemed to be lining up. It did until that fateful day he decided to start a blog.
David Elliott, Mark Twain, Twinsies
Our hero would never admit to himself, publicly that is, that writing was one of his greatest passions. He loved to do it. And he loved to see the smiles on people’s faces when they read it. There’s something amazing about the joy one produces when one puts pen to paper and they feel emotions otherwise untapped. It’s beautiful and intensely gratifying. But that is not really a part of the story. Other than as a means to get our hero to go back to that darned thing called social media again.
Because yes, writing a blog was fun. But in order for it to be what he wanted, he needed to find a means of distribution. And to do that, he needed to market what he had. So once again he went back to Facebook, Pinterest, Instagram, the now popular YouTube, and yes, Twitter. The unremarkable Twitter he had deemed as just a less impressive Facebook with fewer words to put on a post. He would add that too in order to market himself.
In life, we change our opinions about things all the time. We might not change who we are essentially on the inside. But our tastes and delights change as we age. The Asparagus which would have gagged me in my youth, I now love. The Opera which would have caused me to run away screaming as if my life depended on the decibels of the scream, now moved me to tears. It only seems fitting I would end up liking Twitter most of all.
Welcome To The TwitterDome
It was easy. Twitter catered to my writing sensibilities. And as I wrote more, the more comedic my style would get. (But never fear how deadly serious this post is. Because … some reason.) And the more comedic my writing became, the more natural twitter became. It was in and out. Come up with something pithy to say in 140 characters. Eventually, they would raise it to 280. But short and sweet worked as well as anything. And it’s somewhere he could engage with others more naturally. It just felt right, even if it was oh, so very very wrong. Twitter could suck his imagination away.
But it didn’t. At least, it didn’t right away. Initially, he tried to put it to practical use. After all, he was here to promote his blog. And so he used it to do that. He even tried to get things to help me out so that I could maximize my twitter effectiveness. Of course, he didn’t realize that it would cause more problems than he could handle. And by that time, he felt a bit overwhelmed by everything Twitter. He was working so hard on promoting my blog, that spending all of those hours every week on Twitter made it very difficult. He just couldn’t keep up with its demands.
Maybe, David should have known then how much of a problem Twitter could become. It could suck one year of his life away and he wouldn’t even notice. But he was not an addict then. Not like now. Not like today. Today as it robs him of every last moment of peaceful existence and sucks him down various rabbit holes, never to return again. Today as he starts each morning with his eyes fixated on the phone for one more message. One more comment. Just one more DM. But I digress.
I shouldn’t be talking about such craziness. Not on a day where I’m coming clean. Where I’m telling you about the perils of becoming a soulless Twitter Troll. Or maybe not a Twitter Troll but a person enraptured by the allurements over all around. Not noticing you are walking into a dark pit of despair waiting to gobble you up.
Twitter Addicts Are Us – Where An Adult Can Be A Two-Year-Old Raving Lunatic
I’m telling you now before you come to me in despair, awaiting Twitter’s final judgment. What’s that you say? How did David become an addict? What led him down the primrose path into utter despair? What turned him into the raving lunatic with late-night feels and the sensation he was having a hangover without touching a drop of alcohol? That sounds pleasant to you? Alright. I suppose that was why we came here in the first place. To talk about the dangers of Twitter addiction and the barren life it inevitably leads to.
It began innocently enough. Although is anything innocent during the time of the Coronapocalypse? Truthfully? When society has murder hornets, the coronavirus, riots, and the possible re-emergence of the swine flu. I’d tell you to wake me up when 2020 ends so I can hibernate, but I don’t think my body would take to not eating all that long.
It began with an innocent comment. Whether you believe that a Twitter addict like me can put up anything strictly innocent, you be the judge. But I hadn’t done anything for so long. Three plus years and nothing out of the ordinary. I can’t even say I really flirted with anyone on there… ok, maybe that’s a little lie. But it was so innocuous that nothing came of it.
I Blame It All On The Coronapocalypse
But the Coronavirus happened. And then it happened. I had so many hours of time in the house. So I figured I would reach out more on twitter and do something to raise my follower count. I wanted to promote my blog. So I would do that. And then out popped out of my right thumb a contraction. We could go into what a contraction is but I don’t think you are here for a teaching lesson. And if you are, leave your name, number, and reason for the lesson and I will get back to you. Just as soon as my twitter addiction and the Coronapocalypse ends. Whichever comes last.
This contraction was a simple m with an apostrophe, followed by the word lady. Simple right? There are good ladies. Nice ladies. Ladies of the night you want to stay as far away from or they will suck the soul right out of you while you stand there. But ladies, nonetheless. Why could it mean anything? But before you knew it, I was having a conversation with someone and a tweet that probably would have best in the DM. And I was innocent enough on twitter not to know how to take people out of a conversation.
Now it wasn’t bad. Or it wasn’t that bad just yet. But it spiraled. As all drugs do, it took me down a rabbit hole of pain and debauchery so vile I couldn’t stand to look at myself. Wait. No. That’s my novel. I was just an innocent flirtation that turned into more. And more. And wait for it . . . more. It was intense and surreal. Like I had gone on a dating site and was trying to date someone only I hadn’t. I didn’t want to. What in the heck was I doing on twitter? (Yes, it’s mostly G-Rated language here.)
Twitter DMs, Rabbit Holes, And Holy Hand Grenades
I was so caught up in the moment, something imperceptible happened. I was fed information which let me know I should be running for the hills. Or at least putting a kibosh on the love fest. But did I stop myself? No! I let myself slip further and further down the rabbit hole until the bunny from Monty Python came out and I was without my trusty holy hand grenade.
But things started to break apart, as things on the other end of the love fest took dark ends. And I felt like a helpless empath, unable to do anything, and yet knowing that doing anything could cause irreparable harm. So, I cleaned up my act. I started going back to Twitter as it once was for me. And I started to promote this thing I call a blog. It was beautiful… until.
Yes, there’s that word until. The kind which makes you realize impending doom is not only possible. It’s your density. I mean . . . It’s my destiny. And so I went back to Twitter, tail between my legs, hoping to promote my stuff. But once again, I became enamored with actually having conversations with people. Sometimes real. Sometimes not. Mostly fun. Until it wasn’t. And I found myself wanting to wrap my eyes in gauze and have someone declare me legally blind.
The Signs Of True Twitter Addict Pains
I caught something there. What it was, only my stomach, therapist, fast food drive-thru window person, and Pieology pizza box would know. All of a sudden, I couldn’t eat. Ok, I could eat. Sleeping became the luxury of the gods. And the twitch in my eye suddenly found it could do a myriad of death-defying dances over the eyelids. Only the nervous energy which excites you with every tweet, every private DM, every liked and retweeted comment could restore that spirit now. It was magical, mystical, and tragic.
There’s no accounting for the misery in my soul as I speed this little confessional up to its conclusion. Is there another person who captured this heart and imagination on Twitter? What happened to the first person who captured it? Could there be a third? And will my eye ever stop twitching as I stare into the empty abyss? I suppose anything is possible… All I can do is be a warning to you. If you don’t watch out you will become me. Dead eyes, staring into the screen, dreaming of a world which only exists on the edges of your mind. You can look for those silver linings in the realm of madness. But no joy will be found there. Only Ross Lynch trending because he’s a brunette now. Apparently.
Stay tuned for next week’s episode of Confessions of An Adult Male Twitter Addict As I return and say I’m desperately in love with this woman who haunts my waking dreams. Her humor, intelligence, and beauty are far beyond compare. And she’s totally real. All because I found her on Twitter. Peace out!
Wrapping Up Confessions Of An Adult Male Twitter Addict
While I wrap myself around the flag of satire once every decade or so, there is buried a kernel of truth here. It may be buried so deep that you might need a pickax to go searching for it. Nevertheless, it is there. Twitter, like all social media, is a tool. No more, no less. What we do with that tool is completely up to us.
As with all things of this age, they far too often take the place of real life. And as much as I enjoy writing and enjoy the journey, I want to see the waterfall, not just the picture I took of me by the waterfall. As much as I love U2, why would I want to see them through a crappy YouTube Video when I could see them live and on stage. Nothing replaces the moments we have.
So live those moments. Love the people who come into our lives, even the Twitter ones. And wherever you find real love and companionship, embrace it, no matter what it takes to make it happen. Because there is where real joy lives. And if you can’t see it, blame the scientists for not creating the teleportation system yet so people were closer than the blanking cursor behind a twitter chatbox. They screwed you over.
Taking On Confessions Of An Adult Male Twitter Addict
So what has your experience been with twitter? Have you ever had a TC, which for the uninitiated would be a Twitter crush? Do you believe you can find love wherever you are at? Or do you think those who think anything online is real are nutty? Are you a Twitter addict? Does this article resonate too much with you? Inquiring minds want to know.
If you liked this post, please check out some of my other satirical posts, and hopefully laugh your … well . . . you know. Then click the like button and leave us a note in the comments. Share it with a friend, even mildly twitter obsessed. And finally, follow us here to get the latest in parenting, humor, Southern California, and lifestyle hijinks. We thank you for helping us through our 12 step program. Now onto step thirteen. Does anybody know what step 13 is? Anybody?
Until next time, Via con Twitter. Or don’t. Because you shouldn’t.
David Elliott, The Single Dad’s Guide to Life
