Flatlining, with hopeful sprinkles on top.
Emergency episode!
I believe a grunt followed immediately by, "I'm fucking jaded," is what I said out loud the moment yet another rush of dejection recently surged through my body. I'd experienced another unprecedented moment of nostalgia, referencing the same reoccurring time period. I've been fixating on old excitement—usually, a good indicator of being mentally unstimulated, but that was already in the works.
This line of thought was spawned after I stumbled upon an old blog post and an article from 2012 announcing the release of the Instagram app for Android in the same year. I was right there again. Instagram was fairly new, innocent and exciting; filled with trial-and-error posts hidden only under over-saturated filters—the same yellowy-burnt orange filter everybody else was using.
I was immediately taken back to the song "Sweater Weather", and the excitement around Apple's new phone (in a way that didn't feel repetitive and recycled because it was actually different ). I was getting a new iPhone myself; although a new Instagram app for Android meant I could finally take a break from using the Instagram web app that actually only looked organized on select phones (BlackBerry "Torch" included here—do you remember that?). I could properly enjoy it while I awaited my new phone.
Unbeknownst to us, we were square in the throws of a transition into a very jaded and unexciting cycle of events. Today, nothing is new, we've seen it all, and we curate everything. Even AI has failed to shock me in any way that's significant. It's all so overwhelming, it's underwhelming.
I recently got a new iPhone—just like then—and I honestly thought I was going to spiral because what I expected to excite me, I could not locate any joy in. It sounds obnoxious, I'm aware; so very First World of me. It's just, I'd spent months, thinking about how I was getting tired of how clunky and unstreamlined my Androids were starting to feel—no perfect calculator or unwanted-items-in-photo eraser tool could vindicate them at that point—so I made the decision to give in. I ordered the iPhone for a next-day pickup; mind you, I'm a Libra, and although I don't entirely subscribe to stargazing or whatever, I know we're supposed to be extremely indecisive, so let's say, in actuality this was a next-day pickup months to two years in the making.
Frankly, many people around me were feeling the excitement in a way that I simply couldn't compute. The number of times I heard phrases resembling "Are you excited? You're about to be an iPhone girl again!", and "Did you get it yet???" followed animatedly by a list of resolutions to issues with Android I'd been aligning for months before is unquantifiable. Yet, I couldn't summon the excitement for myself.
I truly envied this group of people still able to be excited about an iPhone in 2023. Apple would need to release a phone that projects humans in 3D for me to experience anything mutual.
Clearly, I need to start spacing out the frequency with which I get new phones to, at least, three years—else, I'm permanently ruined.
I'd like to return to a time when things felt like a basket of opportunities waiting for me to dip my hands in it. I'll explain in first-world terms: I want Coachella to be FOMO filled and exciting again; I want Instagram to be honest-ish and jagged and blue all over with an actual header and footer; I want Apple (and all the other manufacturers to stop releasing new (?) phones at every turn (until they actually have something new to share. Otherwise, it's the same shit, and the front page marketing saying "NEW" isn't contrarily convincing me. I, like other regular people, will soon completely stop caring about your little unveiling events).
I mean, it probs was also the mental illness of it all.
However, I'm attempting to be honest and untailored, so we explore all the feelings. ...However, again, I'm a Libra, and another thing I recently learned—that actually may not be true because different sources are conflicting—is that we love to "pretty up" and bedazzle things, so I can't guarantee that this isn't zhouzhed to an extent.
The first step in taking the helm in your state of feeling unwell is recognizing you're unwell. So, I'm taking that in, and I'm trying to examine where I can introduce new experiences for myself, but also take the time to digest my more regular experiences heedfully.
In regards to Libras, I have to say, I have not met a Libra I liked a day in my life. There's something a bit unsettling about us; I can't completely put my finger on it without offending someone. Every time I learn of a new Libra, I'm disappointed—just another unhinged individual to add to the roaster. Recently? Fucking, John Mayer—we're never beating these "flighty" allegations. Who is marrying you all? Honestly?
You know what, you're all very divorced, so clearly, no one.
Well-wishes.