How did I manage before social media? I read the daily paper, watched the news on television and discussed topics with my husband and friends.

Then I got an iPad and discovered the joys of social media! At first, because I was working full time, I only checked it once, at night. Then it jumped to twice per night.

After I retired, however, I found myself looking more often. And since recent events, beginning with the campaign of the misogynist, the adulterer, the liar-in-chief, my obsession grew exponentially.

I absolutely had to know what he’d said, what he did, what he was pledging to do.

I survived the first four years with my sanity intact. Even so, every time I heard his voice, my heart sped up, my breathing became labored and I fell into a terrible panic.

When the Senate refused to impeach him, twice, I feared a comeback. After all, there was nothing to stop him, no rule that a convicted felon couldn’t become president. (I sure hope that’s changed whenever we get him out of office!)

When he ran a second time, against Joe, I shook my head. I like Joe. I felt he did a good job as president. He took care of people suffering from disasters. He signed Executive Orders to help college students plagued with debt. He visited factories, various communities, organizations and attended events that had nothing to do with him. Joe exhibited a caring heart.

Yes, he stumbled, physically and mentally. But he was smart enough to surround himself with individuals who knew, who understood, who offered advice that sometimes Joe might not have wanted to hear, but he listened nonetheless.

By the time elections season rolled around, Joe was four years older. It showed in his hesitant step (after breaking his foot), in his mumbling statements (due to fatigue and his speech impediment) and in his overall fitness to carry on another four years.

He obviously hadn’t read the negative comments. Folks asking who was really running the country. Folks questioning his mental acuity. Folks blaming him for things a president can’t control, such as the price of eggs.

He stepped down well into the primaries. The VP, Kamala Harris, took over the campaign, angering many.

Despite there being only 100 days before the election, other candidates should have been encouraged to run. If she came out on top, at least folks would have said that she wasn’t an heir apparent.

I personally might have voted for someone else.

We saw what happened to Hillary. She had years of experience in some of the highest offices in America. But…emails!  But…her husband. But…her pantsuits (which Kamala also wore). And…she’s a woman, an African-American woman who also has Indian descent.

I don’t believe that America is ready to elect a woman. My incessant scrolling on social media reinforces my belief. Women are often demeaned, ridiculed, humiliated. Many still see women as “less-than’ despite remarkable achievements in education, science, exploration and military service.

I see what’s happening under the felon’s second term. Women in positions of authority are called DEI hires, meaning they lack the capability to perform as a comparable male.

They are bullied by the felon, told they aren’t showing proper respect. They aren’t showing gratitude. That their states or colleges or law firms or companies will suffer economically unless they bow down and kiss the ring.

How do I know all these things? Because of endless scrolling on social media.

I try to restrict myself, but there’s a compulsion inside that demands I take another look, see what new has happened. That reinforces the belief that I might miss something, and so I scroll and read so more.

Endless scrolling is like a pandemic. Once it takes root, it’s hard to stop. There’s no medicine that can help, no bit of advice except for stopping cold turkey.

I’ve never been addicted to alcohol or drugs, but this feeling like I can’t go on unless I check, over and over, must be what it feels like.

I tell myself that I won’t look, and then I do.

I sit down to write, and then start scrolling as time flies by.

Endless scrolling. My personal addiction.