By Donna Provencher I mulled a few hours too long about an uncomfortable Facebook message I got a few days ago, doing that thing where you read the message in thumbnail but don’t click into the box to send the read receipt that starts the time clock ticking on your response. (Maybe it’s my inner tournament chess player: To this day, I linger after a move before taking my fingers off the piece because once you do, no backsies.) Someone... Read more