It’s nothing to worry about.

Really. I’m sure it’s not.

Only… it is odd. It’s slightly disconcerting. It’s… a sort of digital haunting. Or an artifact of the system. Or perhaps just something I don’t properly understand.

I use Twitter. I’ve been using it since slightly before everyone suddenly discovered it. I incline to the belief that it is not a broadcast medium, nor a miniblog. I think the most exciting thing about it is the ease of making friends and meeting people. It is to Facebook what speed-dating is to going to a tea-dance.

Anyway. One of the features of Twitter is the Direct Message. You can only send a direct message to someone who is following your Twitter updates. In other words, you can only communicate privately and directly with someone who wants to hear from you. You can bellow at them in a crowded room all you like, of course, but they don’t have to listen.

Anyway, I have fifty Direct Messages in my inbox right now. Or fifty one. It changes. I never delete any. I haven’t received any for a few days. But I’ve never been able to find that 51st message. And now it’s eating at me.

What if the message is important? What if, somehow or other, it’s really important?

I’ve gone through the list. I’ve read all the messages I have. I’ve counted them. It doesn’t help. I just assume I’ve miscounted.

What if that 51st message is a secret? A warning? A message from another self, from a friend in trouble, from some part of Twitter which is alive and desperate to communicate?

When I look for it, it’s gone. When I’m convinced it’s a figment, it comes back.

Everything’s fine.

No cause for alarm.

I’m being silly.

I just wish I could read that 51st message.