At 24, I exist in an interesting gray zone of the technological takeover.  I’ve never had a landline, I consider Facebook a main source of social interaction, and I check my Gmail at least ten times a day.  However, Twitter eludes me and while I use text messages, I get overwhelmed when a simple text communication turns into a conversation.

Just last week, my friend got a text message around fifty lines long from the guy she was dating.  (Don’t text messages have character limits?)  This text monologue outlined his feelings about their relationship.  Dumbfounded, I wondered not only how he managed to text this while at a bar in Las Vegas, but also when this “we need to talk” type text became socially acceptable.  Shouldn’t he at least call her if not meet her in person (gasp!)?

I know these views make me sound old.  I am the texting equivalent of my dad poking away at the computer keyboard with his index fingers.  I can only text with one thumb.  My phone doesn’t even have a QWERTY keyboard.  I average about eight words per minute.

And when I spot some 14-year-old, two-thumber texting at a gazillion wpm, I feel ancient.  Older because I don’t envy the dexterity; I’m perfectly happy with my T9.  ttyl

(Photo from macinate via Flickr)

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