Time after time, I’ve resolved to do something. And the things I share on the service, too: things I regret, or come close enough to posting to produce a phantom guilt that feels equally bad.
Then there are the things I see there: the angry or bitter or stupid posts that make me angry or bitter or stupid in turn. First, there’s the compulsion of loading the app at all: of flicking its infinite scroll whenever I’m idle, even just briefly-at a stoplight, in front of the microwave, in the bathroom. For you it might be Facebook, or Instagram, or Snapchat, or whatever other app that was built to farm your attention and now successfully reaps it abundantly.įor me, the loathing is multiple. Maybe everyone who uses the service is now. There are people who hate Twitter, and there are people who also hate themselves for using it anyway.
