Are there any more chilling words for a devoted Twitterite?
Personally, I hadn't noticed how deeply Twitter had integrated itself into my life. Sure, I had a YIPPEE! moment Wednesday when I acquired my 800th follower. But I didn't do the Snoopy Happy Dance. Or stick a candle in a cupcake, light it, and sing "Happy 800th Follower To Me!" Yes, there was a smile on my face, and some not-smug-at-all satisfaction. But Twitter isn't my life. I only pop in off and on during the day to check out people I've become friendly with, see how they're doing, let my tweeps know how my thriller & sci-fi writing/revising/more writing is coming along, click on a few fun/informative/holy-%#$&-you've-got-to-be-kidding-me links as an interesting way of filling a few free moments between book revisions, work, and serving ... er, I mean taking care of ... my cats.
Or so I thought.
But then I couldn't get on Twitter last night during LETTERMAN commercials. Nor during CRAIG FERGUSON and my very-late-night snack. When it was time for bed, I tried again -- for only a few minutes, that's all I would have spent, I wouldn't have stayed up till near-dawn, honest I wouldn't -- and instead got that disgustingly cute FailWhale. I needed to get to bed. But ... no "last tweet of the day"? No final follower tally? No polar-bear-does-the-Macarena video links to save for viewing with breakfast? Noooooooooo!
Oh. My. God.
I'm a freakin' Twitter addict.