A smartphone detox is essential every so often, and the more often the better. My preferred method, hard copy letter writing, is now a fast disappearing art form, or so they say, but I continue to write and deliver by mail, and so do other fine pen bic biro wielding  folk.  My smartphone device has been contractually downgraded, not once but several times. Being available 24/7 is making me ill, I need time to re-consider my insomnia in silence.  Requesting to speak to the ‘downgrade’ department puzzled the customer service member: ‘You mean  you don’t want the new iPhone then?’  ‘To what purpose?’ I replied. I now own an android cell phone, I don’t like it, but that’s another story. Customer Services made me aware that people like me are in the minority. Are humans so seduced by all that stuff?  Undeniably sucked in by my Smartphone, a detox became an imperative despite the short haul turbulance of withdrawal symptoms, there are addiction clinics for this sort of thing now. Some friends got mad at me, I stopped returning calls or texts. I lost my texting libido. Every one was eating into my free time and I was responding as though failing to respond would be a failing. I welcome gaps of silence.  I welcome hard copy hand written letters iron folded inside snow white envelopes, or hardcopy postcards with human pizza stained thumb prints delivered by my postman sporting all weather shorts, or mail delivered by a bird with real wings tapping at my window sill with a billet doux or two, hell, more than two, stuffed in its beak.

Boundaries disappear with smartphone usage, my inner hermit got wholly fed up with being available to anyone, everyone, at any time. A letter or a postcard offers the added value of a journey, a physical distance, in my world, distance is a good thing, it allows one to dream.


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Smartphone detox necessitated to tranquilise my inner hermit. Every artist has an inner hermit.

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