I remember when texts made my heart jump. Hours of deep conversations, real connections, passionate flirting. But lately I've become that guy: short answers, accidentally cold, ignoring loved ones.

Now there are obvious reasons to be texting-skeptical: privacy concerns, attention economy exploitation, the usual digital wellness talking points. But I want to focus on something I hear less about: how texting has become this weird psychological burden that masquerades as convenience.

I'm a serial information devourer with a highlights-to-insights conversion problem. The pipeline works perfectly until the final step: all my carefully curated highlights just sit there in my Obsidian, like seeds that never get planted.

Here's the thing I kept missing: highlighting isn't thinking. Saving isn't processing. I was just accumulating raw material without ever doing anything with it.