I am a refugee living, against my will, in The Digital Age.
Digital Technology has been thrust upon me against my will.
I hate it: it scares and frustrates me. It has bestowed up me the legacy of drawers full of wires and plugs that I dare not dispose of..just in case.
I live in fear of digital technology; it has the power to betray me when I need it most.
It’s language is foreign to me. I have had to learn to speak it, but as I grapple daily with new words: slugs, pinbacks, moderate, widgets; I am acutely aware and very embarassed that I will never be bilingual.
However, in common with most of us who do not live ‘off-grid’, over the years I found myself surrounded by it..it is slowly, but surely encroaching on my life. It is taking over. As it’s power grows, preventing me from performing even the most simple of tasks without it’s assitance, my anxiety grows.
As time passes, and my trusted analogue possessions retire themsleves through ill-health and death, I feel discomforted with out the presence of these solid and well made goods that link me to my childhood and the happy carefree time that was my teens.
There is one piece of ancient technology that I cling too, that I love and nuture and will defend from the ravages of old age until my death.
It sits on my desk in pride of place. It cannot me moved..well at least not far. It feels weighty in my hands. The firmness with which I have to press in into life reassures me.It is a horrid colour, but that does not bother me, as the solidity of it’s lines reassure me.It does not depend on electricity or the internet to assume full life. Knowing that it is there, every present, reassures me: it is my constant link to the world.
I do not have enough praise to bestowe upon my trusty analogue telephone phone.