The house stuck in 1995

Back in my China days, me and a group of friends went to the same bar almost nightly. This lasted only because we began to play a game at the bar, a game we called ‘1995’, like the year. The rules were simple, everyone had to put their phone screen side down on the bar, and the first person to look at their phone for any reason whatsoever had to pay the tab that night, for everyone. While playing that game, we all had to act like it was 1995 and ignore our mobile technology.

The game was great, and if I saved as much money as I did while I was in China, it was likely cause I never fucking lost.

When I left China, I became increasingly dependent on the internet. It was starting there, but it got worse after I left. The long and short of it is that I have been using YouTube as a surrogate for the friendships and social outlets I don’t have. I should be doing something to fix that besides lifting anchor and moving to a new country every 2 years, but life nearing 40 is hard.

And then I moved to Hungary.

I moved into my house very quickly, and somewhat desperately. I needed to start work the next day, the hostel I was staying at was price-gouging me and my evident desperation, and I was pretty sick of the house hunt. When I went there to sign the contract, I noticed that my phone was getting no reception (ah, those thick, thick, former soviet walls), but I had no idea how much Hungarian bureaucracy I would need to get through to get an internet connection at my home.

As I write this, I still fucking haven’t. I have moved back into a full on 1995 home.

Y’know what? I don’t exactly hate it.

I am working a metric ton as it is, but when I am at home, my head just feels clearer. I pop open a book and just read, and it is all ok.

That… that feels kinda good actually.

Ludite-ism, here I come

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