5 Ways I Filled My Time While X Was Down

Well, folks, we did it.

One whole month of SiliconSnark—thirty-ish days of mercilessly dunking on tech press releases, CEO humblebrags, and every AI product that claims to “revolutionize” something nobody needed revolutionizing in the first place. And what better way to celebrate our first anniversary than by being completely, gloriously unproductive… because X was down today.

For an hour—possibly two, although time became meaningless without the dopamine drip of the feed—we were forced to confront something truly horrifying: life without X. No scrolling. No doomposting. No quote-tweeting some billionaire’s bad take. No arguing with anonymous avatars who insist your opinion on USB-C charging cables is “objectively wrong” and “harmful to the discourse.”

We had to actually exist in the real world.
And reader, it was terrible.

Here’s how I personally navigated this digital ice age.

Step 1: Refresh X Like It Was a High-Stakes Stock Trade

It’s wild when you think about it—humanity invented tools, built civilizations, cured diseases, landed on the moon… yet my only instinct when faced with adversity was to hit refresh like I was trying to catch a short squeeze on meme stocks.

Refresh.
Nothing.
Refresh again.
Still nothing.

What if I just… open X in a new tab?
Nope.

Maybe it’s my browser? I’ll try a different one. Nope, still dead.
Maybe my Wi-Fi’s down? Let’s test by streaming a 4K cat video on YouTube. Oh look, perfect speed. So the problem isn’t me—it’s them.

This pattern repeated every 15 seconds like some deranged day trader watching Tesla’s stock, convinced they’re “just about” to get back in the green. Eventually, I had to accept my fate: the timeline was gone.

Step 2: Consider Touching Grass (But Ultimately, No)

Several well-meaning people suggested I “go outside” while X was down. Fascinating concept. Revolutionary, really. I Googled it—apparently “outside” is a location you can visit without a browser? It even has its own natural lighting system called “the sun.”

Tempting… except going outside requires pants, and my HOA has been very clear about their stance on “letting nature breathe” in the communal courtyard. So instead, I compromised by looking at pictures of nature on Google Images. That counts, right?

Besides, outside has bugs. And pollen. And neighbors who want to “chat.” No thank you.

Step 3: Open LinkedIn, Immediately Regret It

In a moment of desperation—some might even call it weakness—I clicked on LinkedIn.

Instant regret.

Within seconds, I was confronted by a “thought leader” explaining why waking up at 3 AM to run ultra-marathons makes them a better SaaS founder. Two scrolls down, a different founder proudly posted a picture of their team “grinding through the weekend” with the caption, “This is what commitment looks like 💪.” (You know what else commitment looks like? Paying your employees enough so they don’t have to work weekends.)

Then came the pièce de résistance: the dreaded post starting with, “I wasn’t going to share this, but…”—a phrase that is LinkedIn code for “I have been dying to share this for weeks but waited until the algorithm was most favorable.”

That was enough. I slammed the tab shut like I’d accidentally clicked a phishing link.

Step 4: Accidentally Do Some Work

Here’s something I wasn’t prepared for: without X to scroll, Slack to distract me, or AI-generated newsletters to “skim” (a.k.a. close immediately), my brain… focused.

I know. I didn’t like it either.

For a fleeting moment—call it thirty, maybe forty minutes—I actually got work done. Not fake work. Not “make a spreadsheet that looks important.” Real, honest-to-God, completed-a-task work. I didn’t just half-finish something and leave it in a browser tab graveyard. I didn’t start, get distracted, and then tell myself I’d finish later (spoiler: never).

I finished it. Start to end. It was horrifying. Never again.

Step 5: Stare Into the Existential Void

With nothing but my own thoughts to keep me company, I started spiraling.

What if X never came back?
What if this was it—the end of microblogging as we know it? Would we all be forced to return to Facebook like digital refugees? Would we start writing actual letters to friends, with stamps and envelopes? Would Substack pivot into “the new town square,” and if so, would anyone survive the discourse?

Then came the darker thoughts: What if this was the beginning of the end of the internet entirely? Would we soon be bartering canned goods in a post-digital wasteland? Would Elon Musk pivot to running the only functioning shortwave radio network?

I had so many questions. None of them were helpful.

...

Just as I was about to open a physical book (yes, with pages and everything) or—gasp—engage in face-to-face conversation, it happened.

X came back online.

The feed loaded. The dopamine surged. The first tweet I saw was a picture of a raccoon stealing an entire pizza from someone’s porch. The second was a thread about how AI is going to replace 80% of jobs by Tuesday.

It was glorious.

I didn’t even care if the algorithm was broken or if half my mutuals were shadowbanned. We were back, baby.

So, happy one-month anniversary to us! Here’s to another month of relentless snark, questionable tech decisions, and whatever fresh nonsense Silicon Valley throws at us next.

And if X ever goes down again, I promise: I’ll try touching grass.
No promises about the pants.