Eternal Battle

I used to be a hard-copy fanatic. I would keep a paper trail thick enough and long enough to put most libraries to shame. While computers were still tentatively making their way into my life, I trusted the permanent quality of paper. After all, paper-like documents have been found dating back millenia. And I, being the intellectual idealist I was, adored the idea that my 3rd grade penmanship homework would some day provide archaeologists with key insights into 1995 culture.

Computers were good and well for the lesser and mundane tasks of writing emails, school papers, fliers, and other dull yet necessary functions. Being a child of one of the first real technological generation, I remember the spread of computers--the way they were reluctantly allowed to creep into daily life, the way school time was set aside to educate students and teachers alike, the way adults advised caution while using the most simplistic of programs, the way logging onto to internet was a huge deal, the way Microsoft Word used to have competitors.

It seemed every little change in their software and every advance in their usage was monumental. And each time, we had to practically relearn how to use the programs.

But since college . . . ah, since college. Immersing myself in a culture of technologically addicted youth has fed my computer savvy and addiction. My computer contained my life. CDs became archaic, as did TV. Why bother to work my schedule around watching something when I could look it up on surfthechannel.com and watch it in the dead of night as my roommate innocently slumbered on? No need to expose my new friends to the creepy world of monsters getting their heads shot off by salt-packet cartridges.

I admit it: I became addicted to immediacy. My computer remembers my preferences. Waiting 5 seconds for a page to load seems like an eternity. I've gotten to the point where even paper seems redundant and wasteful. Paper takes up space. Literal, physical space, not just the imaginary idea of space that exists within the two inch height of my laptop.

Those were the good days. My computer has since died (R.I.P.), but I still consider technological solutions as the primary ones. Technology is so easy.

So easy, in fact, that I believe my ability to physically hold a pen and write on paper is deteriorating. I was scribbling on some blank pages in my notebook the other day, and I was astonished to find that my hand was spazzing after a mere two pages.

Thus the conundrum is born of which is worth more: typing or handwriting. My conclusion? Typing on a computer throws me under a more technical influence while hand writing makes me think more carefully. Plus, sometimes it's just fun to get a little ink on my fingers. It makes me feel young again.