I am not kidding you: I dreamed imaginary internet drama last night. Internet Friend A had produced some sort of YouTube video that Internet Friend B and their friends all started making fun of. When I defended the video by pointing out that the perceived problem was one of camera angles and the way the video was shot, then Friend A jumped my $#!+ for running down their production values after they'd spent a bunch of money on a nice camera and some video editing software.
So then I went to eat greasy fried fair food with my ex- in an open-air restaurant under an awning in a park in a half-submerged, half-abandoned town on a small island, full of neat early 20th Century architecture. Like a lush, 3/8ths scale Detroit and New Orleans had a baby. You know, as one does in dreams.
imaginary internet drama shows up in a dream, it's time to start
thinking about hanging up the keyboard, or at least taking an internet
When one is more worried about avoiding the Legion
of the Easily Aggrieved and their Outrage Crusade Du Jour than one is
about writing and linking to what makes one laugh, it sucks the fun out
of this like a shop vac in a Dixie Cup.
If your first thought
was "She's talking about me!" then I probably am. If your first thought
was "She's talking about *INSERT YOUR PET INTERNET FOE HERE*!" then, no,
I was almost definitely talking about you.
There are people I like as people that I find exhausting to interface with because talking to them is like fumbling around blindfolded in a dark closet with button-lined walls: You never know when you're going to hit a button, and I'm bad enough at social interaction cues when I can see people. Conversing with people entirely via text is, for me, like crawling on my belly through a minefield, probing for a safe path through buried sensitive issues with a fork, never knowing when I'm going to set one off.