On Attention Spans & Kittens with Substance Abuse Issues

So, the internet. My second home. The parallel reality I'm constantly plugged into and live my alternate life through, like chubby-old Boris Kudjoe in that movie with Bruce Willis that had the remote-controlled action figures that people sent to work for them and had babies with. That I may have watched while half asleep.

This was definitely in "Surrogates", right? beyondhollywood

The point here is, the Internet is the love of my life, and I know the feeling is mutual, because we confirmed our relationship status on Facebook. The problem, however, with the internet, is that it is like Black; you can never go back. Having spent shocking (shameful) chunks of time on Buzzfeed and 9Gag, my brain has rearranged itself completely. If you follow me on Twitter (and you should, seriously. I like, never tweet, but when I do, they are deep thoughts of WISDOM that will change your life), you are aware of the predicament that recently faced me when I attempted to engage in one of my favourite hipstrobbies. Because hipsters can't have hobbies, those are too mainstream.

WISDOM!

Clicking over to the pre-bookmarked The New Yorker page, whence I expected to partake in a fabulous sample of creative literary art or absorb a thoughtful dissection of current events by someone else who knows things, I was met with a jarring revelation: I am a kitten.

Specifically, this one. buzzfeed

Not in the literal sense, although how rocking would that be, in the sense that I now have the approximate attention span of a kitten. With ADD. That overdosed on crystal meth. And rolled in cocaine. What I'm trying to say is I found myself incapable of sitting still long enough to get through an intellectually enriching article because it was not punctuated by a picture, preferably of a kitten. With ADD. That overdosed on crystal meth. And rolled in cocaine.

Seriously, kids, stay in school. m0tion

Looking back, I really should not have been surprised: the four unread novels somewhere in the reaches of my personal library bear testament to the fact that I have been....internetted. I have become a creature that is incapable of processing information that cannot be consumed in exactly 45 seconds or less.
The unfortunate reality is, if this trend  should continue, all official emails shall have to be reformatted and placed directly over images of things that would catch my waning attention, and be in sentences of six words or less.

And narrated by Regina George, in that exact outfit. fanpop

I know I'm not alone. You there, sir, you know what I mean. Oi, madame, close the fashion editorial open in the next tab and LISTEN. What I'm saying may be the only salvation for our generation. As of this week (yes, I'm aware that I make "this week" resolutions towards the END of the week, it's called pacing yourself, ok?) I shall purpose to read at the very least one article of writing per day that does not feature a Real Housewife or Liz Lemon reference. You should totally join me in this challenge too, by going through the old posts on here. Not that I'm promoting my blog or anything, I'm just saying: you're already here so why not click on something else, y'know, just because it's so close.

Totally not hinting. filmplicity

Hopefully, by the end of next week, I will be able to finish the Coelho I started AGES ago, and finally stop telling people I stopped reading it because he's overrated. Seriously, Paulo, I love you and we should hang out, I didn't mean it.
Until then, loves, Ego Vobis Valedico. May the Saints of Pretension be ever with you, silently judging you from a distance. Deuces!

Because every post needs a little Nene Leakes. assholegifs