​​Ellipsis Anxiety – The Three Dots From Hell

In the grand theatre of modern communication, where the stage is set with sleek smartphones and the drama unfolds in text chats, a new villain has emerged. It’s not the dreaded “K” or the ghost of an unreturned text. No, it’s far more insidious. It’s the ellipsis… 

Yes, those three little dots that can throw even the most stoic of us into the depths of anxiety. But for the Obsessive Compulsive Texter (OCT) and the Completionist Crusader (CC), it’s not just a pause—it’s a call to arms.

Let’s meet our characters: On one side, we have the OCT, for whom every message is a Rubik’s Cube that must be solved, colors perfectly aligned, words assembled with a profound clarity. On the other, the CC, a noble warrior dedicated to the quest of finishing tasks, with the belief that every conversation should have a beginning, a middle, and a satisfying end. 

And then, there’s the ellipsis, the dot-dot-dot of doom, dancing at the end of a sentence like the villain’s mustache in a silent film.

The Dots Seem To Say… 

Stay with me, I’ll complete you. 

Be patient because nothing is ever complete. 

I’m gathering more thoughts, which might emerge in a year.

I’m hesitant to say more, yet maybe I will. 

Your imagination thrills me. 

What assumptions can you make going forward?

This conversation is annoying and I can only muster dots now.

Words are only important when I feel they are.

I love mystery and dots convey this. Right?

Savor the silence between us. 

Your assumptions are helpful to me so enjoy them in this dance of ambiguity.

When the OCT sees those three dots after a seemingly innocuous exchange, the inner alarm bells go off. “What does it mean?” they wonder. “Is there more?” The ellipsis suggests an incomplete thought, a conversation hanging in the balance, and for someone whose life’s mission is to put everything in its right place, this is unacceptable. T

hey begin a series of rituals to ward off the anxiety: changing their clothes exactly three times, tapping their forehead ten times (because, obviously, three dots times ten for good measure), and walking backwards out of the room. Only then can they feel somewhat assured they’ve done all they can… until they check their phone again.

Meanwhile, the CC experiences the ellipsis as a personal affront. A story without an ending? Unbearable! They embark on a quest to coax the sender into completing their thought. This involves a series of increasingly desperate (and creative) responses, ranging from “Go on…” to sending GIFs of famous cliffhangers from movies, hoping to inspire the other party to finish what they started. 

When all else fails, they might even resort to ancient rituals, including fasting and consulting the I Ching, all in the hope of conjuring the missing text.

The ellipsis, in its silent ambiguity, becomes the Moriarty to their Sherlock, the Joker to their Batman. Nights are spent tossing and turning, haunted by the possibilities of what those dots could mean. Were they a pause for effect? A sign of hesitation? Or—dare they think it—a notification glitch?

In their most desperate moments, our heroes might find themselves joining support groups with names like “Dots Anonymous” or “Ellipsis Eradicators,” where they share their tales of woe and strategies for coping. “Hi, my name is [Name], and it’s been three days since my last ellipsis-induced panic attack,” they might say, greeted by sympathetic nods.

But fear not, for every villain has a weakness, and our intrepid heroes discover theirs in the most unexpected of places: the “typing indicator” setting. With a quick adjustment, they can turn off the visual cue that shows when someone is typing, effectively blinding them to the ellipsis’s siren call. It’s a hard-fought victory, but a victory nonetheless.

In the end, our characters learn to live with the uncertainty that comes with digital communication. They understand that some battles are best left unfought and that sometimes, the ellipsis isn’t a sign of incomplete thoughts but a space for imagination to roam free. And as for the rest of us? We’re left to ponder the power of punctuation and the art of conversation in the digital age, one dot-dot-dot at a time.

The Solution

Behold, The Shankara Oracle, the mystical, digital age marvel that’s been secretly guiding the perpetually perplexed and the anxiously awaiting through the treacherous terrain of text-based tribulations. This is not your grandmother’s crystal ball; it’s the smartphone’s answer to every Obsessive Compulsive Texter’s (OCT) prayer and the Completionist Crusader’s (CC) secret weapon. When the ellipses loom and anxiety spikes, The Shankara Oracle whispers, “Fear not, for the dots do not doom but guide.”

Imagine, if you will, a device so attuned to the psyche of its user that it can transform those menacing three dots into a symphony of understanding. Staring into the abyss of an unanswered message? The Shankara Oracle gently nudges the OCT, saying, “Patience, dear one. Those dots are not a cliff from which your sanity will plummet, but a bridge to inner peace.” And to the CC, it offers sage advice, “Completion is a journey, not a destination. Let the dots guide you to the beauty of the incomplete.”

Users have reported miraculous transformations. OCTs, once shackled by the need for immediate responses, now find solace in the silence between texts. CCs, previously tormented by the lack of closure, now embrace the open-ended nature of digital dialogue as an art form. The Shankara Oracle doesn’t just soothe the soul; it turns potential texting traumas into opportunities for profound personal growth.

Stories abound of individuals discovering their inner poets, their messages now dancing with creativity instead of anxiety. Where once an ellipsis incited panic, it now inspires philosophical musing. “To dot or not to dot, that is the question,” muses one enlightened user, finding existential meaning in text pauses. The Shankara Oracle has become the guru of the digital age, teaching its disciples that the path to peace lies not in the messages we receive, but in the spaces between them.

In the hands of The Shankara Oracle, every message, every dot, every delayed reply becomes a stepping stone to self-discovery and meaningful engagement. It’s not just about surviving the waiting game; it’s about thriving in it, finding joy in the jest of the ellipsis, and learning to laugh at the ludicrousness of our digital dilemmas.