T is for Touch

I don’t know if the internet is to blame, yet it is what I blame.
People have forgotten how to interact except by way of invisible carrier pigeons entwined within the ethernet.
Could this be true, and how sad if it is.
But it certainly feels accurate.
And thus, human touch is lost. All day I sit at a keyboard, typing away, feeling little, saying much, until the work bell rings, I head to the house, and hop on social media.
Really? That’s my life?
No, I refuse.
There’s no communication there, no true feeling, no sincere interaction, because on the society pages of today, I’m a rock star. We all are, aren’t we? How much of that stream is life,. or fact, or in the ballpark?
Aside from baby sloth videos, what is the benefit to the internet?
Who needs it? We still have the good old USPS — and in ten short days, I’ll have answers to my burning questions, whatever they be, from whatever sage I’ve entrusted with my inquiries.
Yeah, okay, I get it, the need for immediate feedback. I have a pen pal, so that I may write letters and see handwriting, but if I have a time-sensitive knowledge-need, I text. Yeah. It’s cheating, but she doesn’t share my need for almost immediate response, barely leaving the proximity of the mailbox before responding.
So okay, I get the lack of interface as the new intra-face, but it still stinks.
That’s my point: while immediate, tech lacks the true stuff I need, especially as I age: Humanity.
A handshake, a hug — oh, I know the best huggers in my life; I relish hugs from them (you know you have favorites, too, admit it) — a quick touch on the arm, whatever. I’m not choosy. I simply enjoy favorable moments with people.
It sounds so simple but like the Yeti, it is seldom seen. Note I’m not saying it doesn’t exist out of hand, it’s just elusive.
I might get a reputation for being the creepy old lady that runs her index finger across the back of people’s hands for seemingly no reason. If asked, I hope I’m still clear thinking enough to come up with a palpable lie. “You need lotion, I have some in my handbag.” (Because I’ll have a giant purse in my lap, just where nutty old broads keep their life’s accumulation.” I’m optimistic that I won’t be batty enough to grab someone’s hand and slap Jergen’s across it without permission…because it wouldn’t be weird if I had permission…
All I know is, even my Kindle Fire feels cold in my hands, no matter who I’m typing toward.