120 Hours Without Twitter

I’m 5 days into my 7-day sentence, having been punished by the Twitter Powers That Be for something I didn’t actually do. It’s a long, sordid story that you can read about here.

Oddly enough though, life goes on, even without Twitter. Sure, I’ve quit before, sometimes for upward of a few months, but I’ve never been banned for longer than an hour or two. To date, most of my time away from social media has been voluntary; I’ve successfully noted when I need a break, I take one, I come back. It’s a whole different ball of wax when Daddy Jack Twitter absconds with the keys to the world’s greatest treasure chest of human shit-thought. Coping with the loss of a proper social media outlet isn’t only challenging, it’s sort of fun. Honestly, my biggest gripe is that I can’t very well bitch about having been banned from Twitter because I can’t tweet, otherwise my days remain largely the same.

Still, I’m finding there are times when I’m reaching for my iPhone, iPad, whatever, to word-vomit in 280-character increments and realizing that it’s a little frustrating not to be able to do so. Twitter acts as a form of therapy for me to express myself. Without that outlet, I’ve had to resort to writing, planning, creating. Nothing productive. Nothing quite as satisfying as screaming my various agonies and ecstasies into the dark, depressing digital void.

But I’m still here and I’m still counting down the days before I can offend again, with my oh-so-dangerous threats of violence or whatever it was I supposedly did.

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