My parents are probably the only reason I find phone calls useful. Everyone else can IM me on whatever platform we’re both connected on – unless there’s an emergency or we haven’t spoken in forever and absolutely have to talk.
On the off chance that I have to call someone – and it is not an emergency – I secretly hope that the phone rings out without an answer. So I can send a text and say I tried to reach out. Easy, ball has left my court. Over the years, making a phone call has become like an unpopular chore one has to occasionally deal with. I find I’ll much rather text a long winded essay when interacting with someone than have the conversation over the phone. Texting is easy. Talking that isn’t face-to-face is… well, it’s not hard; just exhausting.
Texting, on the other hand, really only works if the other person is
smart and/or interesting enough to be worth the time. There’s nothing more torturous than trying to carry on a conversation with someone who can’t be bothered to type like they had some basic education without coming off as a condescending ass grammar nerd. Sometimes, it’s even more painful when they don’t get the hint even when you’re one. Ugh. End of chat. Be gone.
People who think K or kk is an acceptable response should be sterilized. In any keypad, the letters O and K couldn’t be placed nearer each other than they currently are. How do so many people not realize and respect the sexiness that comes with conversing in good grammar? Carrying on texting like you’re retarded is so pervasive that people who make the effort to converse like they have some education are the ones who seem retarded. Madness. While I may enjoy a person’s company or find them interesting, I find myself judging and correcting their grammar in my head when we communicate. Can’t be helped, sorry.
Calling home is easy. My parents don’t use the internet and they don’t have to talk for very long on the phone – even though I don’t mind if it comes to that. Calling home, especially if my nieces are around to chime in is therapeutic for me, sort of. In the often pulsating voyage that sums up my day-to-day life out here, occasionally talking with folks back home is very soothing.
Next on that ladder is the person I am enamoured with at the time. Sadly, even I tend to cower and follow the script when I’m in love with someone. It’s almost like they’re and my family are in a constant jostle on my speed dial. They win every time – if only in frequency, though. Even with them, after a while, I tend to ease back into texting more often than placing a call.