My definition of heaven has changed every
half-decade or so. Today heaven is my current setting: a clear blue sky, a
ten-year-old son three hours away from the waning moments of fourth grade, a warm
cup of creamy coffee, and a blank page of pure white primed to hold several
hundred words I will soon pluck from the air and distill into an entertaining,
witty diatribe. That is, if I refrain from opening Facebook, or Twitter, or
email.
Ew, but what if someone needs me. Right: you know who
needs me? The marketing division of every online or brick and mortar shop I’ve
ever patronized or surrendered my email address to in a moment of weakness. Why
can’t Twitter stop sending me suggestions? Pinterest, you are enough of a time
vampire before you clog my inbox with recipes and DIY. Maybe today I’ll execute a
mass unsubscribe sweep.
Ah, but I can’t because I might miss the next kooky Star Wars
branded household product. Darth Vader spatula? Why not? I could store it next
to my Stormtrooper salt shaker. “TK-421, why aren’t you seasoning my green
beans?”
I can ignore the multiple job posting alerts, but I
certainly can’t unsubscribe to those, because how will I find the dream job
I’ve fantasized about since I was 21: travel writer based in London? My
mortgage lender might have a few words to say about that.
When I do find something that actually has some
value to my life – a real email from a real person I actually know! – what do I
do? I “mark as unread” and save it to read later.
