Yesterday, while daringly texting something random in my truck. I found myself pushing the predicted word button above the alphabet for the entire message. This did not sit well with me.
As written other places, I place a distinct standard upon myself to continue creating. I will only tell a funny story a few times, and I almost never repeat my off-the-cuff quips unless they are particularly hilarious. Anymore than a few times and I feel like I come close to lying, regifting the same special present to person after person. I feel sticky, unpleasant, and lazy. Letting the wind blow away the sand painting of my hilarity continues to ensure that I create new and exciting things.
Predictive text ruins this. Simply creating a routine from my responses proves that a pattern exists. Patterns lead to malaise. Malaise leads to ennui. Ennui leads to another French word. Another French word leads to death.
I won’t let you kill me Predictive text! I will find new ways to respond. I can rejuvenate my repertoire. I will stop using the words ‘bit’ and ‘later’. I will message people and they will think that a stranger has answered them, so swept away will they be by the new elloquent forms that dance on their cellphone screens. I will lead this dance with my chin thrown back, laughing into the unknown future.
