I realized I was addicted to texting when I grabbed lunch at Panera. I traipsed over to the soda dispenser. I don’t usually drink soda, so I couldn’t decide between Pepsi and Dr. Pepper. Naturally, I sought the opinion of my best friend, Nichole.
How did I, a 26-year-old graduate student, who has lived on my own for several years, get to the point where I could not make a simple decision about a lunchtime beverage without sending a text to a friend I haven’t seen in over a year who lives two time zones and half a country away?
Oh no, I thought, I’m officially a statistic. I can now be lumped with those socially inept teenagers who can’t carry on a coversation because of the cell phone glued to their palms.
I recently ran out for a short shopping trip and I forgot my phone. I had to purchase a new suitcase with no texted input from Nichole, my mom, or my sister. I could not send pictures of my options. I had to make the decision all by myself. I’ve made these decisions plenty of times before I had a cell phone. In post-unlimited-texting world: it was lonely.
Texting is a sin.