There Is A Strain In My Relationship Between The Internet and Me

Once upon a time, before I worked six days a week without having much time to screw around, where I would be on the Internet rather often. I was connected with the real world and the Internet world. I spent time with friends and always had a bit of time to spend with my boyfriend/fiancé/bear butt (at the time). I worked with my friends, too. I mean, I still do, but it was just one set of clients, and we spent at least eight hours together. We were family. I had all my sisters and me. The world was balanced. The office workers at my other companies generally left me alone to do my job and exist. Sure, we would have a professional relationship where we would do what we could to help our clientele, but it wasn’t as awkward as it is now.

When I say work takes over my life, I mean it. I don’t mind work taking over my life for the most part. I have great clients and enjoy spending time with them. I enjoy trolling the office workers with my corny jokes every time I see them/do business with them. Heck, I have thought about inviting the whole office over for cocktail parties while screwing professionalism. But this unfortunately leaves me with very little time to spend with my fiancé/bear butt or talk with my friends as much as I used to. You know what else it leaves little time to do? BE ON THE INTERNET. Yep. I am rarely on. I play a few games of Hearthstone: Heroes of Warcraft (which is increasingly losing its appeal) and then troll Bizarrepedia. I occasionally go on twitter, but that’s rare. Point is, my ever-changing revolving DOOR work schedule is why I never write that much anymore.

I recognize there is a strain between the Internet and me, and I’m sorry. I miss everyone, even Rashmi and her beautiful self. Her name is the only one I can spell properly. Wait, I can spell Anand, too, but Rashmi is awesome. Wandering Soul, you’re a beautiful young lady who writes better in English than most English professors, but your name is really hard for me to pronounce and spell properly. I know it starts with a P and ends with an I, but what is inbetween is a mystery.

By the way, my real name is Sayre. Xara is my edgy, angry, and inadvertently amusing pen name and alter ego. They’re both equally difficult to pronounce, so Sarah works, too.

Xara Nahara O’Connor