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An Ode to the Uncharged
The Apple Watch, the epitome of tech chic and the gadget du jour that promised to revolutionise my life. Instead, it’s become the bane of my bedside table, vying for a plug among the tangled mess of chargers for my iPad, laptop, and iPhone. You see, my disdain isn’t merely about the nightly power puzzle; it’s about the redundancy of it all.
I remember when wristwatches told the time, and that was enough. Now, my watch pings with every message, buzzes with each email, and taps me for every meeting – as if I don’t have my phone glued to my palm or tethered to my car. The redundancy is striking. I need another device telling me about my digital life like I need a hole in the head – or rather, another app on my phone.
Then there’s the workout tyranny. My Apple Watch nudges me to stand when I’m deep in thought, meddle in my me-time with reminders to breathe (as if I’d forget), and guilt-trips me with rings that close or remain glaringly open, dictating my daily movements. And let’s not talk about the ‘Walkie-Talkie’ feature – a novel walk back to the ‘90s, but surely a call would suffice?
