Dear Google,
First, let me tell you how immensely helpful you are. I couldn’t do any of my current jobs/work without you, since a great deal of it depends on using your excellent skills to find me whatever I’m looking for. For that, Google, I am forever grateful.
However, I have a beef. I think you’re almost too good, Google. You let me search for things I shouldn’t be able to search for, and that leads to another thing, and another, and another. Before I know it, I’m knee-deep in “things I should be doing,” and that makes me worry, because OH MY GOD, this is what I should be doing, and how can I NOT be???
What happens when I start to worry? I use you to find out what stress does to the human body, and you know there’s a ton of useful/crappy information/opinions out there, Google. I seem to stumble upon the ones that tell me “I’m doing things all wrong,” and that I just need to relax. How on Earth can I relax, Google, when I need to know everything NOW NOW NOW thanks to you? You have created a monster.
Sometimes I find myself wishing you didn’t exist. That I would be happier just being, not being able to find out what it means if I have a pestering cough a day too long, or being able to tell myself, “just EAT the damn yogurt, it doesn’t smell funny, you’re imagining it.”
Furthermore, I wish I had the courage to tell you to just f*ck off sometimes, because you make me so angry with your silly accusations of what I should and shouldn’t be doing. Why should I care what your search brings me? Sometimes, you really hurt me. You make me feel hopeless and I should know better than to listen to you but I just. can’t. stop.
So you know what? Next week, while I’m on vacation with my family, I’ll show you – you won’t be giving me any of your silly opinions, Google, because I refuse to accept that.
The sooner you go back to actually being helpful, the sooner we can be friends again.
Sincerely,
Me
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