Have you ever burned an ant under a magnifying glass? You can be honest, I won't tell.
The poor bugger wiggles desperately on the unforgiving cement, writhing from the unnatural torture.
Know what I'm talking about?
Well that's how I felt all of last week.
Not literally, of course, but before tiptoeing into each new lecture, I experienced a major anxiety crisis. My peers were the magnifying glass, and several generic classrooms across campus, my pavement.
\Be cool, girl. Be cool,"" I think before forcing myself into a cell of penetrating eyes.
""You can do this. Sit next to someone. Say hello. It's easy."" Although these phrases scroll across the forefront of my brain like an annoying screensaver, my eyes inevitably drop to the scuffed tile as I shuffle to a desolate back corner.
Oh balls, I've done it again.
After surviving five semesters at UW-Madison, you'd think I could handle a room full of peers.
You'd think I could look someone directly in the face and say, ""Hello."" No pretenses, no judgments, no hidden meanings. Just ""hello.""
But in a youth culture of passive-aggressive communication, such a feat is nearly impossible for me.
Instead, today's popular methods of communication all foster a puzzling blend of passive action. Thefacebook.com, LiveJournals and away messaging not only have youths bonding through mutual isolation, but these addictions also allow for a passive, calculating way to assert one's feelings.
Gone are the days of direct confrontation. Can you even recall a time when a declaration of crushing didn't consist of obscure song lyrics and a winking emoticon?
Every revelation is now a carefully edited buried treasure. Working through a fight or making a new friend is less of an exploration of the person and more of a scavenger hunt.
Mood: Confused. Why can't we say to one person, in person, what we're willing to reveal to thousands of people on the Web?
While it may be convenient, this lifestyle comes with casualties, and people, I'm about to crack.
I can see myself in just a few months, ordering my pickle and cheese sandwich from my favorite deli.
""Meat?"" the unassuming sandwich maker will ask.
I'll break down. Or rather, I'll stare her down for a good two minutes. Unable to comfortably reject her offer and assert my desires, I'll start to boil with hostility.
""Meat?"" she'll ask again, a bit nervous this time.
Her unwillingness to dig through my muddled brain for the recipe will make me snap.
""Don't let the days go by! Glycerine!"" I'll snarl before grabbing a loaf of bread from the counter, chucking a five-dollar bill at her head and bolting out the door.
Something's gotta change.
I can't keep looking at people's facebook walls to find out what they know, what they want, and what they think of me, my roommates and humanity.
But boycotting AIM, facebook and LiveJournaling is about as realistic as convincing frat boys that there's no ""pop"" in ""collar.""
Nevertheless, there must be a way to blend the exhilarating, voyeuristic opportunities of facebook with the directness of face-to-face.
A newfound appreciation for sweaty palms, awkward pauses, the inability to disguise feelings and other elements specific to in-person encounters, perhaps?
Not sure. But when I figure it out, I'll put it on my profile.
Emily Winter can be reached at ewinter@wisc.edu.
