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buy Clomiphene online with debit card I hate FaceTime.

Not the idea, the act. The moment that icon spins to life, I feel a primitive dread, like I’ve been drafted into a play I didn’t audition for.

Apple call it progress. I call it phone calls with homework. You must hold your face in place, manage your lighting, and pretend your background isn’t a hostage scene.

Sure, it’s great if you have kids or a spouse or friends. You know, a life. But who is going to think about the hideous? Some of us have a face for radio, you know.

Psychologists even have a term for the condition: video fatigue. Your brain thinks someone is inches from your nose, while your body knows they’re miles away. The result is tension, not connection.

Then there’s the mirror. You’re talking and judging yourself at the same time, as if you’re being interviewed by your own reflection. No wonder we hang up drained.

Delay just kills the rest. You pause, they pause, you both talk, then both stop. You end up apologizing more than conversing.

And for anyone with vision issues, it’s a sensory brawl — glare, motion, and forced focus in every frame.

We used to converse. Now we perform.

Can we talk?