Nibbling

If you ever give money to a political campaign or a cause or a store or a service, you know it's coming:

Can you give more?

How did we do?

Please take a minute to rate the two dollar item you bought.

Please take a minute to rate our service representative. 

They nibble away.

Even the  laptop nibbles: "Updates not installed" flashes, like a rebuke.  "You have not backed up your computer in 522 days."  

The iPhone announces: "Some services will not be available until you update."

Spammers pretend to be Amazon or the bank.  Online stores remind you  to reconsider everything you've looked at.  Facebook texts to tell you that you should wish happy birthday to someone you don't know in real life. 

Nibble nibble nibble. 

With a defiant finger, I throw every request for anything in my junk folder.  There! But in a day or two every one is resurrected under a pseudonym. I yell at them.  I refuse to review anything.  If I haven't returned it, assume I like it just fine. (Michaels wants me to review a piece of poster board, I kid you not!)  (PayPal wants me to review customer service's skills in taking an hour of my day to resolve an issue that wasn't my fault in the first place.)

I turn the phone off and put a napping sign on the door when I'm painting, reading, thinking, or sleeping. I  say no to the frequent requests (two this week) from people asking if they can permanently rent my casita.  If I ever want to be a landlord, I'll post an ad.

In the interest of election fatigue, I've donated a little, put up yard signs, and will stand in line or stand on my head or whatever it takes to get this toad of a president out and  Biden in, but no, Joe, you can't call me. I have election fatigue.  I've put up yard signs and I'll make some blue rocks, but that's it.