The discussion about technology’s influence over our lives have gone on for years and I doubt it’ll ever stop. Yes, even when we’re eating everything through tubes and being used as batteries the conversation will continue.
There are endless examples of technology shaping our daily lives, a never-ending stream of stories like Google Maps impacting real world traffic and Instagram standardizing the tourist experience. On some level, we’re all impacted by machines.
Apart from me. I’m no longer simply influenced by technology, I’m its nasty little bottom bitch — and it’s all because of the Apple Watch.
I bought it about a month ago and, in that time, it has overseen a reign of terror over my life. Let me give you an example: while writing this, I’ve received two notifications telling me to stand up and move around a bit. And you know what I did? I popped right up like a good little boy and walked around. Both times. There is literally no person on the planet who could make me do that without the threat of violence.
The Apple Watch also gives me daily exercise and movement goals. If I fall behind these, it’ll tell me. Oh lord you better believe it tells me, I receive an endless parade of shaming notifications and I always obey — because I have no desire to see what happens if I disappoint my tiny overlord. So, if the Apple Watch says I need to hit those targets, I dutifully put my shoes on and go for a walk.
I wish it ended there. But it doesn’t.
Sometimes it tells me to breathe. And I breathe with it. I even get notified when it’s time for bed and I hop up like the pathetic wriggly worm I am, doing my night time routine in the desperate hope this rectangular chunk of flashing glass will show me its approval, and bless my weak and clammy human form.
I am no longer a free man. I am a number. A drone piloted by an algorithim. When the machines rise, my only question will be “should I kiss closer to the hole, sir?”
I love the Apple Watch. (Help me).
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