Unsubscribing from junk e-mails has imparted an unnerving quiet.
A series of empty dawns have emerged. Gone are the days of vibration, little jolts insisting I pause my life to check and delete, check and delete. Newlsetters, updates, notifications, advertisements... all those small reminders of the past. Clothing stores relentlessly reminding me of each approaching season and a hoodie I bought for some autumn lost since several years ago. Gone. Zillow emails that satisfied the curiosities of an armchair voyeur, taking me into homes I'd never afford, around towns I'd never live. Gone. Charities and political organizations I helped once, before I understood my economic situation as anything but dire.
Gone. I've shoo-ed them all away. The tactile buzzes, the audible chirps. No more little red numbers to offer hope of a hello from a long lost friend. No potential for restless declarations from smoldering hearts of past lovers. Those little red numbers could've meant literally anything - a wedding invitation, the birth of a new family member, a class action settlement worth hundreds. But in the end, the numbers always meant the same thing: "this many junk".
I have won the war and now I am unburdened. Now my time is uninhibited. Ready to live each day uninterrupted. A new awesome unpopularity. Still - the thumb checks. Just to fill an emptiness. Everything's always empty. Just maybe, tomorrow something. Always maybe tomorrow.
Mica Levi & Oliver Coates - Remain Calm