A Highlighter’s Lament
Slip sliding away — an interior monologue
No, not that word.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Little cursor, please move on just a whisker … pleeeeaase.
Yes!
Noooo, you little bastard. Why? Just why? Come on, that’s not even on the same line.
No, I don’t want to highlight what Patrick M. Ohana highlighted. I’m my own person with my own thoughts.
I’m always interested to see what Jodian Marie Thomas, MS, Bsc, Asc likes, what Susannah MacKinnie or Adelia Ritchie or I. Trudie Palmer finds noteworthy, but right now …
No, David Rudder and James G Brennan, get off …
I want to have my own, my very own highlights on this fine piece by Chris Noonan or Lee Ameka or Shadowgnosis.
At last, perfectly aligned! Now where has the little pop-up gone? Where is my highlighter??
Wait. What? Why can’t I highlight a darn thing? Have I used up my highlight quota for the month? Been highlight-capped? My highlighting privileges revoked?
Ah, no, I’m not actually in the piece. I have to click … here? … there? noooo, I don’t want to see Franco Amati’s profile page just now, I just want to do a little highlighting in his pizza haiku*.
