At 53 years of age, I am getting back to a more original version of myself: natural, artsy fartsy, moody, (always) curious, and — this one seems to have gotten lost — loving. There’s also dorky and silly and dark … I could go on. But I have most certainly had a tendency to overattach and overshare when I do open up, and where I’m going with this is that these forces fed into my recent cell phone number change, which apparently caused at least a handful of loved ones to think I didn’t want to hear from them anymore. Even though there are other communication channels open. Even though I have a history of overcommunicating, to an embarrassing extent. Even though there wasn’t a fight or anything like that (I’m a lover, not a fighter). The truth is, I can’t handle the amount of texting that is now prevalent in our culture and that for some reason seems to have overtaken every other mode of connecting. Texting has become another social media network. And social media and I do not mix.
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