It has all come to this.

What would you do if someone took away your computer and your cell phone? I think I would die. Recently I was chatting with friends and we contemplated how the world would just end if all the phone companies and internet providers decided, for one day, to cut out service. In other words, what would we do if we couldn't get online or talk to anyone (in new fangled ways) for an entire 24 hour period. I started to have a mini anxiety attack just thinking about it.

How did this reliance on technology become so pervasive so quickly? It's really quite amazing, I think. But also kind of sad. (This will seriously date me, but I remember when, during my first week of college, one of my suitemates asked if I wanted to go to the computer lab (haha) and set up my email account. My reply? "I probably won't use it, but I'll go with you.")

I used to really heart writing thank you notes. I loved buying stationary and monogrammed notecards. (Please refrain from making the nerd comments). Now, I still do it on occasion, but I always feel like the recipient will think, "What a dork. She could've just sent an email." The result: a drawer full of unused Cranes stationary.

So there was an article in the Post today about text messaging and how it is so pervasive. Not just generally, but also in the romance department. People use text messages to propose. To break up. To say "I love you" or "I miss you." And, of course, for the booty call. Um note to men: don't propose via text message. Seriously.

While they are convenient, they can also get you in trouble. What if, for instance, you're showing a friend a "cute" message you sent/received and you accidentally hit the "send" button and it goes--again--to the recipient. Three days later. Yeah, um, that's embarrassing. Especially if the end result of the night the text was first sent wasn't exactly stellar. Texting is so quick (the article says that it's one of the most reliable ways of getting in touch with people) that you have no chance or hope of retrieving it. Nope, you're screwed.

The supposed quickness of receipt is a detriment, too, in that you assume that the person you're sending it to must have their cell phone on them, so you assume again that they must have received the message. So when they don't respond right away, you start to worry. Did they get it? Why aren't they responding? (And by they I mean he.) Was it too much? Should I not have sent it? Bring out the Xanax, it's going to be a long wait.

Also, if you're like me, you like to save "good" ones until your smart little phone tells you that your inbox is reaching capacity. Then you have to decide if you want to erase them all or if you want to pick and choose. That's annoying. But what's more annoying is the fact that the outbox automatically deletes messages (at least on my phone). There's no way to save those pieces of work of which you are the most proud. You know the ones. The article likens the art of text messaging to poetry. I wouldn't go that far, but I will say I have sent and received some good ones in the past, ones that convey more than "sup."

Adults don't seem to understand the amazingness of the text message. "Why don't you just call the person," they'll ask. Because I don't want to talk to them. A text is a safe, quick way to say something and not have to waste extra time on extraneous conversation. It should not be taken as an insult. In fact, I know lots of folks who would prefer to receive a text than a phone call. Especially when you're sitting at home watching The Real World and have to share a very witty and clever commentary about the atrocities running across your screen...but you can't possibly be distracted to the point where you're not watching for more atrocities. So you text. Easy.

My favorite thing, though, is the mass text message. This is used primarily when there is "breaking news," such as Tori Spelling's announcement of her upcoming nuptials. What better way to scoop the masses than to send a text? I can't think of one.