Home

Tweet Rebellion: From Peeve to Principle

3 Comments

My enthusiasm has turned to disgust. Twitter, again. I thought all this Tweeting nonsense would be over by now, as unfulfilling as it seems.

I often like the WordPress Weekly Writing Challenges. I usually find some other interesting bloggers through it, and often gain a few more “followers” each time I blog on a Challenge.

That’s why I’m so annoyed that the Challenge this week has to do with embedding Twitter in my post. Aren’t there real things to write about? Things that are longer than 120 characters? (Or 140, or whatever it is.)

I’ve always been annoyed by Twitter – I mean, even just the name is obnoxious.

I’m particularly annoyed when my more thoughtful and reflective friends get sucked into Tweet World. Really?

But then I realize that when something bugs me this much, when I make a simple peeve into a matter of principle, there’s usually something deeper going on.

I think I’m afraid.

Afraid that I won’t be able to keep up with this ever-expanding technology race, this social media morass. I hate it when all my friends are staring into their various I-this’s and I-that’s and showing each other their spiffy apps. I feel left out and not up to the task.

And so I feign disdain.

It’s true, life is too short already, and I think a lot of this stuff is a waste of time. I don’t want to bother to learn about it, because it’s not how I want to spend my days here on earth. That’s why I don’t have a TV; if I did, I would watch it, and I don’t want to.

And it’s also true that I’m not working; I’m spending my retirement savings on tuition at the moment, and it seems there are probably more useful things to invest in than all these beeping and ringing and vibrating boxes.

But I used to sneer at Facebook, and now I admit I’m a fan. It really does help me stay connected and up to date with my friends. I also used to mock bloggers (sorry) as self-absorbed ranters without a life. And now I’m an addict. Blogging is the most fun thing EVER.

So who knows? Maybe I’ll Tweet one day. I kind of hope not. Anyway, it won’t be today.

Today I am rebelling. I am going to call this a Daily Post Challenge and I’m not going to embed a Tweet. Or a Twitter. Or whatever. So there.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Tweetizens | The Daily Post.

Shift Your Perspective: The Best Laid Plans…

12 Comments

The car is packed, and I’m ready to go. Depressed, but ready. I just have to suck it up, and get on the road. I always feel this way when I close up my little New England house for the winter.

This was a good trip. I did a lot of writing, although it wasn’t necessarily what I had planned to write. But as they say, the best laid plans…

With a ten-hour drive ahead, I don’t have much time for journaling. I’m making good time with my to-do lists, and it’s only 7:30 a.m. All that’s left is to turn off the water and catch the cats. They’re usually behind the sofa bed. Peace out-

You’re walking funny this morning. Faster, like something’s up. Plus, you are talking out loud and we creatures of fur are not in the same space with you. You do not have the shiny black noise-maker in your paw, either. Who are you talking to? Something is different.

A zipper! I’d better make myself scarce. Last time you found me behind the sleeping place; where to go?

I’m back, ticked off because I only had thirty minutes scheduled to catch the cats, and I can’t find Eliza Bean. Maya was behind the sofa bed, but Eliza seems to have vanished. She’s too big to fit behind the stove where she used to go when she was a kitten, and I know she’s not behind the laundry hamper because I can always see her tail.

Weird. Well, it will only delay me more if I write – I was just frustrated and decided to vent.

Eliza Bean

Eliza Bean

I can’t fit behind the big box that gets hot anymore. Besides, you know that place. And the place you put the stinky skins you shed is too small; my tail sticks out.

 I am not letting you put me in that Mover. I feel sick in there, and there’s no room to stretch and no sunshine to nap in. You know we don’t like it, you know it. I hear you coming – where shall I go?

Hey! What’s in here? Brmmpp?

CRASH!

I cannot believe this. Eliza has managed to pull down a panel the plumber left leaning against the upstairs bathroom wall, and she’s gotten inside the wall and underneath the bathtub. I can’t see her, but I know she’s in there. Shit. What am I going to do?

Perfect…. It’s nice and dark. Mew. Spider webs.

Ouch! What’s that awful noise? My ears hurt. Are you doing that? You are hurting my ears! Ouch, my foot! I’d better go farther back here. Stop! Oh, you are going to be very sorry for this.

I’ve tried blasting rock music, banging on the bathtub, thrashing around with a broom. She’s not budging. This is crazy. It’s noon already. I’m going to kill her. I ought to board her up in there and leave her.

Oh now you have your sweet voice. The one when you want me on your lap. No, I don’t want treats. No, I don’t want food. I am not coming out. This puffy stuff in the walls is soft, and it’s still a little warm over the place of fire. I will have a nap. We will all just stay here for the afternoon until I am ready. I know you won’t leave me.

The old house has seen a lot in 225 years. Some of its favorite dramas involve this family and its felines.

Quiet Hills

Quiet Hills

In the 1950s, Grandmother’s white cat, Feather, played the hiding game and spent a whole day tucked behind the books on the living room shelf.

Then there was the one called Aunt Valerie, whose cat hid out in the woodshed and got sprayed by a skunk. Thirty years later, the house can still sense the smell.

And there was this one’s mother with her orange tabby, Triscuit, who slipped into the basement crawl space and delayed their trip home for two days.

Orange Tabby sleeping

The house thinks this one wouldn’t be so angry if she would only remember that these escapades turn into favorite family stories.

 

Yawn. It’s getting dark and chilly in here. I think I’ll go down now. I wonder if you’ve got any Trout Feast. I think I’d like the kind with gravy.

***************************************************************************************

This post is in response to the WordPress weekly writing challenge: Shift Your Perspective, encouraging bloggers to write from different points of view. It’s first person, second cat, and third house.

Weekly Writing Challenge: Shift Your Perspective | The Daily Post.

%d bloggers like this: