“BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
What is that sound? Where am I? What’s going on?
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!”
There it is again! What in God’s name is that sound?
“BEEP BEEP BEEP!” It is relentless. It is piercing. It is brash. The sound punctures through my unconscious sleep haze like a sharp knife slicing through butter over and over again until finally, I jolt into reality.
My alarm, perhaps the most dreaded sound in the world, is going off near my head. Nails screeching against a chalkboard would be more welcomed at this point. Yet it keeps beeping and I unfortunately must force myself to get up.
“Where am I? What time is it? How did I get here? Why is this alarming going off?” All the daily routine of questions I ask myself every morning before my body finally comes into full consciousness. But alas, I’m awake and I begin to recognize my surroundings. What day is it? Tuesday. What time is it? 7:30 am. Where am I? My bed. Is this home? No, it’s my dorm. How do I feel? Angry. Or is it tired? Or is it a combination of both simply because I have to be awake. Upon sitting up, I turn off my phone (I always sleep with it right next to my head) and before I even wipe the sleep out o my eyes, I reach under my bed for my laptop. I haven’t even been awake for 60 seconds and I am already plugged in.
Lying under my bed, my computer sits like a spider. Silent and still, it’s perched near by never make a sound. And what am I? I am the helpless insect, buzzing freely about my day until I suddenly find myself unexpectedly trapped in the spider’s sticky home. At first, I buzz around frantically trying to get free, thinking there must be some way out. But soon I realize the web is too strong and I slowly give up the fight. I surrender, and I am at the will of the spider. The computer with all its magic and lights sucks me into its web and there is no looking back.
It might be an understatement to say I have an addiction to technology. Everywhere I go, at all times, 24/7 I am plugged in. Whether it’s the headphone connected to my ears, the cell phone that’s always at my side, or the computer that rests in my lap, I am never without it. These forms of technology have become my best friends, my constant source of communication, and my means to everything. So much so that at 7:30 am, before I can even attempt to think about the grueling day ahead of me or even process my surroundings, I am already logged on to my e-mail.
“Did anyone message me? Did anyone like my posts on facebook? Did I get a response to any of the job applications I sent out? Where any of my photos re-blogged on tumblr?” These are all typical thoughts while scrolling through my inbox in the morning. Only until after these questions are answered can I begin start my day.
Everyday my computer takes up copious amounts of my time. A day without my computer would be like a day without food. I need it for my vitality. It sustains me. Just thinking about the days before computers were invented sends chills up and down my spine. How could that be? How did anyone survive? What was life like before e-mails, before tumblrs, before skype, before facebook, before spell check? This 15-inch rectangle has changed the world and its really only been around for the last 15 years. Well, at least it’s changed my word. Or has it? I actually don’t even remember a world before computers. They are so much apart of my everyday that life without them would seem… odd. This is the 21st century. This is my life. This is my everyday. This is all I know.
When did this happen? When did most of my day become looking at a computer screen and getting bewitched my the magic of its luminous being? As a young female in the 21st century, I’m told I live in the “technology generation,” but what does that even mean? I find myself asking these questions, but do I really care about the answer? Perec states it best when he writes in his essay Approaches to What?, “To question the habitual. But that’s just it, were habituated to it. We don’t question it, it doesn’t question us” (210). The truth is, I don’t actually care about the answers to the questions or even care if I am addicted to technology. The point is, this is how it is and this is how it needs to stay. It’s all I know.
Are they telling me there was a generation before technology? There was a generation before cell phones, before computers, before Internet? How did people get around? How could they get from point A to point B without GPS? How did people wake up in the morning without their phone alarms, let alone know the time? How, did people keep up with current events? How, how, how? Literally within a minute of waking up, I’ve already worked my way through two technological devices and you mean to tell me there was time when none of this existed? I know I sound like a naïve 20 something, but there is a real sincerity to my questions. This technology has become so much apart of my everyday life that it is hard to even fathom a time without it. How did I get this way? Is everyone like me? Are they in an “involved relationship” with their phones and computers too? Or do I just have a problem?
My cell phone, for example, is my everything. It is my sole means of communication, it is my clock, it is my alarm, it is my calendar, and it is my camera. Without it, I am lost—literally (it is my GPS as well). Upon realizing that I may have left my phone at home or left it sitting on a subway seat somewhere in Manhattan, my heart began to palpitate and my whole body tenses up with anxiety. My phone is my everything. And that alone frightens me. How did I become so attached to this inanimate, blinking rectangle? How does a piece of plastic make me feel more things than most alive human beings can?
* * *
A typical day with my cell phone can go something like this.
“DING DING!” goes my blackberry. Quickly I grab the device, excited from the possibilities of what I might find blinking beneath the smooth screen of my phone. That sound means I have BBM. Or is it an e-mail? No definitely a BBM. Quickly and instinctually my fingers glide over the sleek black keypad relying on an unconscious muscle memory that I have built up due to my repetitive use.
“WYD?” reads the message. Disappointment. I hate those stupid text messages when people don’t actually say anything. Ugh, it’s just Blake. I have now lost all interest in the text and continue back to what I was doing before. And it wasn’t from Him, so I don’t respond.
“DING DONG!” goes my blackberry. That sounds means I got an SMS. Well this could be promising. He always sends me messages in SMS. Once again, my fingers grab for my phone before I even have time to process my actions.
“Hi beautiful,” reads the message. My heart skips a beat. It was from Him. An overwhelming feeling of happiness consumes me and I am in bliss for 2.3 seconds until I hear a “DA-DING” of another message. I quickly loose focus on what I had just been so excited about and I wonder, “Whom that could be from…”
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