“It’s not a bus station, you don’t have to announce your departure.”
So the thing about Twitter is that it mostly fucking sucks.
The writing has been on the wall for a bit now. Probably longer than any of us diehards would care to admit. The pot’s been on the burner and we frogs that all but grew up in that water have come up with all sorts of reasons that it was still worth the sweat.
The Elon takeover hastened the departure of a lot of us (though I’ve seen quite a few pals who finally actually made the jump sheepishly sink back into the warm and comforting embrace of our collective soup-to-be) but even that was more sideshow than death knell, at least in the early days.
And, if pressed, I can’t even point to one thing that’s led me to the point I find myself at now. If you’ll allow me to abandon one over-boiled metaphor in favour of another I’m likely to pummel into submission, it really has been a death by a thousand cuts thing.
But all I know is last night I was laying in bed, scrolling through rage farm after bait tweet, and I just felt this sudden wave of “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
I’m not so bold as to declare I’m out. Even busses that depart the station inevitably make their way back. But right now I just don’t want to be there. The app is off my phone, I’ve taken the tab out of my Chrome start-up rotation and maybe, just maybe, I’ll be happier for it.