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If you had to reinvent yourself as a writer in the internet age, I reassured myself, then I was ahead of the curve.
The problem was that I hadn’t been able to reinvent myself as a human being.
So much of it was irresistible, as I fully understood.
So much of the technology was irreversible, as I also knew.
But the insanity was now banality; the once-unimaginable pace of the professional blogger was now the default for everyone.
If the internet killed you, I used to joke, then I would be the first to find out. In the last year of my blogging life, my health began to give out.
And at times, as events took over, I’d spend weeks manically grabbing every tiny scrap of a developing story in order to fuse them into a narrative in real time.
I was in an unending dialogue with readers who were caviling, praising, booing, correcting.
Then the apps descended, like the rain, to inundate what was left of our free time.I tried meditation, but my mind bucked and bridled as I tried to still it.I got a steady workout routine, and it gave me the only relief I could measure for an hour or so a day.I tried reading books, but that skill now began to elude me.
After a couple of pages, my fingers twitched for a keyboard.
But over time in this pervasive virtual world, the online clamor grew louder and louder.