Dear Cellphone,
Thanks for the popup notification warning me I’m playing music too loudly. I had no idea you were so concerned about my health given that you’ve been pretty tight lipped when it comes to other obvious forms of distress such as the feverish game of whack a mole I play with the same four apps, fiending after a notification induced dopamine. Don’t play dumb. For a phone that has mapped out the contours of my face, you should be able to identify mine as one driven by impulse and unfettered addiction.
I’ve come to realize you concern yourself most with the issues of the smallest significance. Newsflash, celly: blown eardrums are the least of my problems you have inflicted upon me. Blaring music at 7am isn’t the issue, it’s a symptom. My thoughts are sick and I’m trying to escape them. So quit trying to Stockholm Syndrom me into submission because my mind has become too perverse to succumb to psychological phenomena.
Between the auditory health updates, the bluelight filter, and Instagram telling me I’m “all caught up”, nothing has curbed my psychosis. At this point if you are still hard set on helping me, I’m afraid you are going to have to shoot me because anything less than a bullet through the brain will do nothing in stopping me from the possession of a screen time that knows no bounds, limitless in its duration and potential for harm.
You have single handedly ruined my life but yea, keep clocking my usage. I’m sure it’ll come in handy when the coroner has to determine cause of death.
-Needs a charger.
My phone has never once told me my music is too loud. My celly doesn’t give a flying shit about me 😔