Ironic Archive (PB)

It's eighth period again.  I am sitting in the far right row, four places back in my maroon chair that is stapled to my elephant gray desk. I have had to deal with this inconvenience for two years and you would think that I would have grown accustomed to the idea of a desk connected to a chair, but that still hasn't happened.  So anyways, I sit in my crippled chairdesk and I sketch a curious little man with a bespectacled face and a neat suit onto the cool gray surface while talking to my best friend, who sits directly in front of me.  And in the spaces between our gossip and my drawing, we watch the left side of the room. 
 

Everyone has their phones out.  Literally every person in the room has their phones either in their hand or on their desk or something.  Myself included.  I passively watch as a girl stops talking to someone to give her friend an elbow nudge, and it's like her jab has some type of predetermined hidden message inscribed into it.  Or maybe it's the little hair routine that she does with the flick of the wrist and the perfectly imperfect messy perfect long brown hair perfect result of this flick that does it.  Either way, the friend gets it.  She immediately turns towards the outreached arm holding the phone and does the whole distortion of the face bit.  My gaze trails over the friend's eyebrows, which have magically lifted up to her hair line.  Then her eyes, wide and screaming, "I'm fun!!!  Wow, look at how surprised and fun I am!!!".  Her lips transform into a playful little pout and she lifts up her middle finger to complete the 'rebellious' persona.  The owner of the familiar phone follows suit, and after an awkward suspended silence while scooching their butts and rotating a bit to get the lighting that will make their face look the most snow white and their eyes the most unique brown, the picture is taken.  Immediately, the affection that radiated from their bodies has completely dissipated and without a word, the two girls continue their conversation with separate partners, as the one girl rapidly types a description of approximately six red lip emoji's to accompany the shot.  She then uploads this picture and I know that I will get a notification in three, two, 
 

ding 
 

My eyes shoot down to my phone.  The purple square lights up with a solid one and I hurry to clear it off.  I could just ignore it, but it will bother me later.  Because I like to have that clear feeling of knowing exactly what is going on, that I haven't missed anything.  I like knowing that I have seen what was meant to be seen. 
 

Ever since the huge social media bang cropped up, there have been huge debates on what type of impact it has had on our society.  Arguments on whether it is going to lead to mankind's downfall or whether it will be its greatest achievement are common.  Some say that this whole new system of a viral community has brought upon laziness to today's youth, that billions of dollars are lost in the workplace because of the loss of productivity in employees as a result of distractions from their phone or laptop.  History has become a thing of the past, haha puns, as humankind glosses over important day to day events that are happening as we speak.  Nothing is new anymore.  There is no real surprise, no real wonderment.  Excitement about the area around you is rare. 
 

And I'm not just criticizing everyone else.  I'm speaking from my own actions.  I feel the pull too. 
 

I used to just look at something and say, 'Oh, yeah that's cool.'  I would observe it, make connections, think.  But now, it's like I feel this immediate yanking to reach my hand in my pocket and record everything.  I can't enjoy anything just for itself.  I need to share with others.  It drives me absolutely batty.  Why can't I reserve some experiences, some thoughts, just for myself to keep?  Why do I need to listen to every artist, read every book, watch every movie, to feel like I've lived life to the fullest?  Why do I feel anxious whenever I don't write down some witty idea or thought that pops into my brain?  Why can't I just not write in a journal and not feel guilty about it?  All my brain wants to do is document and analyze and remember little figments for later use, but really, what is that later use?  I feel like I'm constantly tied down to this thing, this grip on my life.  It holds everything that I've collected over a space of time: pictures, texts, moments, memories, ideas and sounds.  My connection to the people in my life that I love.  It's an assistant, and essentially a diary, but it is also an enormous nuisance that bogs down on the fun in life. 
 

Sometimes I fantasize about throwing my phone and all my accounts on the internet into the garbage.  The other night I even had a dream that I chucked my phone into the sea.  Symbolism, eh?  But I couldn't bear to give it up.  Not when I've invested so much time and thought into a metaphoric body of work that represents my life. 
 

Basically, all I'm saying is that maybe we've gotten a bit caught up in this whole colony of blogging and web surfing and digital lives.  Maybe we should all just put that aside for a while and breathe and go make some pasta or dance with your pals at a club or something.  And leave your phone.  Just leave it.  And don't go home and babble on and on about what you did the entire night.  Just savor the tiny little space of time that no one else knows about but you. Trust me, at first it's hard, but after a while, I think you'll like the feeling of the loss of attachment.  I know I do.