So let's watch TV and make out before noon/ I'd cross my heart for you

I was thinking today about a cheesy Melissa Etheridge song that starts with "I would dial the numbers just to listen to your breath."

You can't really do that these days, can you? With caller ID on every phone, you can't call to hear someone's voice and hang up. Cuz you'd be busted, clearly.

And with things like sitemeter and such, you can't just go to someone's website or blog and see what they're up to without said person knowing about it. Again, busted.

And so technology keeps us from behaving foolishly, it would seem. From going down roads already well tread. From letting people know about the giveashitness that lingers.

There's even a cellphone with a breathalizer in England right now.

And yet . . .
There's a trail. Emails and cellphone bills and calendars and address books. You can file, trash or archive the remnants but the fact remains that there is tangible proof out there that you once shared something with someone.

In my longest relationship since college (2 yrs), I thumbed through journals, poems, letters . . . where did it change, what went wrong . . . when did that the ever-dreaded shift occur?

It would seem technology is quite cruel.