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Who do you talk to when you're hypertextsensitive? When the webshit get so deep under your skin that you don't even want to scream, you just want to lay down and give up. When you have to cross your fingers till they whiten that your browser tab won't be OOM killed when you visit that beast of beast, that monstrosity so littered with javashit that not even your keyboard assisted browser navigation will ease your pain, having to carefully drag the right pixel next of the border you want to move just a tiny bit so you may eventually have within reach the other maneuvers that will get you the file. Who, I ask you, who will comfort you? Who will listen when the OOM killer comes for the fourth time this day. You only have a mere 16 gigabytes of RAM and twice the swap in your machine. You just want to get the file. So that you can fill out the spreadsheet in peace. And then. Then visit once more this wicked place of darkness without meaning, this solitude in the intertwined web of remote resources and watchers, measuring your every step, filling a myriad of data stores humming away, who knows where. "Let us show you this new feature here", the modern slick popup says, not even resembling the popups of old. You whimper. The noises you make by the mere though of returning the xlsx with its two new numbers to where you first, not without struggle, went to get it. You stumble into things as you make your way to get a glass of water. When will you ever get time to do what you where trained at? What they hired you for and what you're supposed to be good at. What are you even good at anymore? What is the point of it all? Who will ever listen? Who would understand?