the idea of going to the movies alone being like sad and pathetic is crazy to me like thats barely a social event to me. If you try to talk to me during a movie at the movies I will kill you.
One of the many weird things about depression is that it retcons your life. Not only are you lying in bed feeling like a piece of shit and that everything is awful, but you start projecting those feelings back along your own time stream - you start low-key believing you've always felt this way, that nothing good has ever happened, or if it has it happened a long time ago.
On January 1st of last year I decided to start keeping a tally of good days and bad days, because I stopped trusting my brain to report on that accurately. I expected to come and look at the tally when I was depressed and go "oh, I had a good day only a few days ago. this hasn't always been like this."
What I didn't expect was that the process of asking myself whether a day had been good or bad would radically shift my perspective on what a bad day was and what a good day was. On the very first day, when I'd achieved nothing and had felt sad and slow all day, I went to put a notch in the Bad Day column before stopping myself:
wait, i thought. has today actually been bad? not bad enough to write it off. i played rummikub online with my partner. i drank some water. i had a long bath. no, today wasn't a bad day.
And so I put a notch in the Good Day column and went to bed. The next day I did the same thing, and the next day, and the next day. Just the process of going over my day every day meant that I found at least one good thing that happened every day. I had a good meal. I went to the pub and was around people, albeit quietly. I went for a walk. I saw a duck. There were days where truly awful, terrible things happened, but even on those days there was always something - even if the something was a simple as We Were There For Each Other or We Reminisced.
On December 31st I put the final tally down. Not a single day had been so bad that I could justify writing it off as a bad day. The bad day column was completely empty.
I'm still depressed, occasionally deeply, but I think I have more perspective. Depression is a physical feeling, and an emotional feeling, but even without trying *something* comes along every day that makes me glad I'm here despite that feeling.
This sort of thing is coming from the same place as my "write down three things per day that went right" method for getting out of depressive states.
The thing I find depression does is moves your mental "Overton Window" - it makes it so much easier to spot the miserable things, the horrible things, the annoying things, the things which went wrong, and it takes time, effort and above all practice to figure out how to shift your frame of reference back in a less negative direction.
I will always take the cat's side. "she's drooling on me" you're so lucky "he always wants to be petted" then pet him "he's mad I won't let him on my desk" make room on your desk for him. I am your cat's defense lawyer and the cat is always innocent on the grounds of them being A Little Kitty Cat.
adhd paralysis sucks bcuz im just sitting there and my brain is like
YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME YOU ARE WASTING TIME
no work done no rest gained. literally no point of this at all
so what you're gonna do is you're gonna trim the top off a bulb of garlic, using the knife's edge to take off the tip of every individual clove, that's important. you're gonna place the garlic face-up in a square of tinfoil, drizzle with olive oil, wrap completely in foil, place in baking tray, repeat with a copious amount of garlic bulbs. you're gonna put that baking tray in an oven set to 375-400°F, for 30-50 minutes, until soft and browned. you're gonna toast some good bread, slather generously with butter and honey, maybe a tiny lil bit o' salt. and then. you're gonna SQUEEZE. OUT. THAT. ROASTED GARLIC. onto the butter honey toast. and you're gonna eat it. food stolen directly from the plate of the gods. that's what you're gonna do.
So a couple days ago, some folks braved my long-dormant social media accounts to make sure I’d seen this tweet:
And after getting over my initial (rather emotional) response, I wanted to reply properly, and explain just why that hit me so hard.
So back around twenty years ago, the internet cosplay and costuming scene was very different from today. The older generation of sci-fi convention costumers was made up of experienced, dedicated individuals who had been honing their craft for years. These were people who took masquerade competitions seriously, and earning your journeyman or master costuming badge was an important thing. They had a lot of knowledge, but – here’s the important bit – a lot of them didn’t share it. It’s not just that they weren’t internet-savvy enough to share it, or didn’t have the time to write up tutorials – no, literally if you asked how they did something or what material they used, they would refuse to tell you. Some of them came from professional backgrounds where this knowledge literally was a trade secret, others just wanted to decrease the chances of their rivals in competitions, but for whatever reason it was like getting a door slammed in your face. Now, that’s a generalization – there were definitely some lovely and kind and helpful old-school costumers – but they tended to advise more one-on-one, and the idea of just putting detailed knowledge out there for random strangers to use wasn’t much of a thing. And then what information did get out there was coming from people with the freedom and budget to do things like invest in all the tools and materials to create authentic leather hauberks, or build a vac-form setup to make stormtrooper armor, etc. NOT beginner friendly, is what I’m saying.
Then, around 2000 or so, two particular things happened: anime and manga began to be widely accessible in resulting in a boom in anime conventions and cosplay culture, and a new wave of costume-filled franchises (notably the Star Wars prequels and the Lord of the Rings movies) hit the theatres. What those brought into the convention and costuming arena was a new wave of enthusiastic fans who wanted to make costumes, and though a lot of the anime fans were much younger, some of them, and a lot of the movie franchise fans, were in their 20s and 30s, young enough to use the internet to its (then) full potential, old enough to have autonomy and a little money, and above all, overwhelmingly female. I think that latter is particularly important because that meant they had a lifetime of dealing with gatekeepers under our belts, and we weren’t inclined to deal with yet another one. They looked at the old dragons carefully hoarding their knowledge, keeping out anyone who might be unworthy, or (even worse) competition, and they said NO. If secrets were going to be kept, they were going to figure things out for ourselves, and then they were going to share it with everyone. Those old-school costumers may have done us a favor in the long run, because not knowing those old secrets meant that we had to find new methods, and we were trying – and succeeding with – materials that “serious” costumers would never have considered. I was one of those costumers, but there were many more – I was more on the movie side of things, so JediElfQueen and PadawansGuide immediately spring to mind, but there were so many others, on YahooGroups and Livejournal and our own hand-coded webpages, analyzing and testing and experimenting and swapping ideas and sharing, sharing, sharing.
I’m not saying that to make it sound like we were the noble knights of cosplay, riding in heroically with tutorials for all. I’m saying that a group of people, individually and as a collective, made the conscious decision that sharing was a Good Things that would improve the community as a whole. That wasn’t necessarily an easy decision to make, either. I know I thought long and hard before I posted that tutorial; the reaction I had gotten when I wore that armor to a con told me that I had hit on something new, something that gave me an edge, and if I didn’t share that info I could probably hang on to that edge for a year, or two, or three. And I thought about it, and I was briefly tempted, but again, there were all of these others around me sharing what they knew, and I had seen for myself what I could do when I borrowed and adapted some of their ideas, and I felt the power of what could happen when a group of people came together and gave their creativity to the world.
And it changed the face of costuming. People who had been intimidated by the sci-fi competition circuit suddenly found the confidence to try it themselves, and brought in their own ideas and discoveries. And then the next wave of younger costumers took those ideas and ran, and built on them, and branched out off of them, and the wave after that had their own innovations, and suddenly here we are, with Youtube videos and Tumblr tutorials and Etsy patterns and step-by-step how-to books, and I am just so, so proud.
So yeah, seeing appreciation for a 17-year-old technique I figured out on my dining-room table (and bless it, doesn’t that page just scream “I learned how to code on Geocities!”), and having it embraced as a springboard for newer and better things warms this fandom-old’s heart. This is our legacy, and a legacy the current group of cosplayers is still creating, and it’s a good one.
(Oh, and for anyone wondering: yes, I’m over 40 now, and yes, I’m still making costumes. And that armor is still in great shape after 17 years in a hot attic!)
endlessly frustrating that I was never taught what "studying" actually MEANT. I STILL don't know and all the advice assumes you know! WHAT DO I *DO* WHAT DOES THAT VERB *MEAN*.
Don't tell me to remove distractions, make time, set up a space. Tell me what "study" MEANS. Because otherwise I just sit there reading the book over and over and stressing out because I don't know what the hell I should be doing.
It's so frustrating that people listen to me talk and think I'm "smart" and don't need help. I WAS NEVER TAUGHT ANYTHING!! Learning things in a classroom is literally a fucking nightmare and the only reason I APPEARED to learn anything at all was because I'm a chatterbox that grasped reading early. But that's ALL I learned. I never learned how to study or how to learn something when it was hard. And nobody helps me even when I tell them very clearly that I need help and what I need help with, because they assume self-awareness = being able to do it on my own. NO! Stop abandoning me because I speak well!
Number one problem I have in adult learning classrooms is that they expect you to WRITE while LISTENING. I can only do one of those at a time! Number two problem is NO TEXTBOOK. The textbook for college classes is often so fucking different and unhelpful compared to secondary and primary school, where the textbook is divided into sections with questions and so on. In college I got assigned books that were NOT textbooks at all, because I was supposed to treat the lecture like the textbook. Well write it down then if it's so important! Let me READ it. How the hell are hard of hearing students supposed to learn anything like this! (answer: we're not, I know we're not because exclusion is what this system is fucking built on)
Accomodation is a joke. You need a note from a doctor so you need health insurance and time and a car to go to a doctor and then you need to FIND a doctor that actually can PROVE you are disabled, which is hard because well 99% of your body is inside you where nobody can see it. You can't PROVE I'm hard of hearing with a hearing test, because it's not that kind of hard of hearing. It's a processing problem. I do ONE thing at a time and I don't think that should be a disability but it IS when you're in school so here we are. And even WITH the school's idea of "reasonable accomodation" it's a crock of shit. They don't accomodate you. They have ONE thing they decide they are going to do for all students and that's IT.
And that's why I hate school but seem so "smart". I'm not smart. I'm good at reading and writing. Not listening. Can't listen for shit. Not if you want me to remember it or write it down while I'm listening. Give me a fucking book to read.
I'm just. I'm so restless and BORED and want to learn new things but that is locked away from me by HOW you are forced to learn them. And that doesn't even get into the problems I have with other students, who are disruptive, stupid, and abusive. Fucking loathe other students.
Anyway, the POINT is, TODAY I learned even a little bit of what "studying" actually means and I think all the advice about it really doesn't grasp how to explain what it is so much as they think you don't know how often to do it. This is the fucking thing I mean when I say that the higher in education you go the worse the actual skill at TEACHING gets.
As an adhd who went undiagnosed until the end of law school, and a smartie who didn’t learn how to study until after college because I could barely manage to get by on reading comprehension and bullshit generation,
God I wish someone had taught me even a hint of the law school outline method of studying. In law school, when you hit the end of a course and you’re prepping for an exam, you outline the whole fuckin thing — topics, legal principles under those topics, definitions under those legal principles, and case law under those definitions (with variation in this related to how the legal subject itself is organized). This was a way of processing and interacting with the material that put it together into one coherent whole, and it felt So Good.
Outlining is now my one (1) study technique and it’s been pretty great.
His explanation of how to translate a triple entendre is really cool but it sure seems like he's being unnecessarily harsh on the ASL Theater actors themselves. They're high school kids, some Deaf and some hearing, participating in a totally voluntary program. They're not professional actors or folks fluent in ASL. They're doing what they've been taught to the best of their ability. Totally fair (and deserved!) to criticize the leaders/teachers of the program itself for not teaching them to sign properly but I think the kids themselves still deserve some kudos.
Maybe it's a language barrier thing and he's more sympathetic in ASL than the captions make him out to be? I hope so because otherwise this just rubs me the wrong way, and that sucks because his explanation was interesting otherwise. Criticize the adults in the room, the kids are not at fault here. And make that distinction clear.
TL;DR this explanation would have been fun if it hadn't also been mean to children. They're kids trying their best. Their teachers being shitty is not their fault, let's yell at the teachers and not the kids please.
Starting with this: I'm not a part of the Deaf community so my opinion doesn't matter, this is not my native language and at the end of the day I'm coming to this with a hearing/slightly HoH perspective.
I can say, from limited exposure (roughly 3 years of college ASL and volunteering with a local deaf group) that ASL is a far more blunt language than English. The way my (deaf) professor explained it is that in English, we often use euphemisms to dance around what we mean. As an example, she said that if somebody is obese, in English we'd think it polite to say 'overweight' or 'heavyset' or similar phrases, in ASL they would simply say 'fat' but it wouldn't be meant as a derogatory thing but as a simple descriptor of fact.
From what I know about the ASL Theatre troupe kids, this was for all intents and purposes a passion project which was translated and perfomed by a mixed group of both deaf and hearing teenagers. It wasn't meant to be a professional level performance, it was for a general audience of family and friends and perhaps a few interested local folks, and it's highly unlikely that they had the budget to hire somebody like Jeremy Lee Stone. It simply broke containment after being posted online.
Personally, I think that if this performance got even one person interested in learning ASL, in making theatre accessible, that's a success. Again, my opinion doesn't matter here- I can (mostly) hear. Still, more people learning ASL and working to make the world a more accessible place can only be a good thing. And as a mostly hearing person watching this with an admittedly basic level of ASL knowledge, most of the signing made sense to me, a little oversimplified in places but I'd rather oversimplified than bad or misleading signing.
The comments in this reblog by @shayvaalski include details that I also remember, like the fact that on YouTube they specifically called out the fact that they didn't translate the triple entendre on 'my shot'. And that just because one triple entendre can be translated really well doesn't automatically mean that another can be.
And for what it's worth with regard to the example shown in the video, I watched the official ASL translation of Kendrick's super bowl performance the night of, several times after, and again just now to confirm I wasn't misremembering, and Matt Maxey didn't translate it quite the way Jeremy Lee Stone did, either.
So yes tl;dr I love the insights on translation but you can't expect an amateur group of teenagers to translate things at an academic level the way the concepts he was discussing require. It feels mean spirited-even if unintentionally so- to produce such a scathing review of their performance, especially when he concludes by trying to sell something.
"I would never insist on perfection for translation. My bare minimum is this: Do I understand your signing? ... I did NOT understand those signing. This means that those signing is NOT accessible to a deaf audience. For you to stick the "ASL" label on something without actually making it accessible to a deaf audience is a slap in the face for the deaf community."
I think this is an issue of the video addressing more than one thing at once (both the comment it was responding to, which was worth addressing because the commenter probably didn't realize how much effort goes into translation, and the actual quality of the performance), and people are understandably conflating them. But when he said he didn't understand the performance, he was not talking about the lack of triple entendre.
He has more videos on this same subject where he clarifies that he supports the students and feels that it is a disservice *to them* that they are being taught some incorrect signs. In this video, he gives examples where he did not understand the meaning of what was being signed.
Someone else (I think the shayvaalski reblog but i don't feel like checking) was comparing this to if a group of French students posted a video of them singing in French. It's not a fair comparison because French doesn't have the same history of oppression that ASL does. Hearing ASL students are generally encouraged not to post themselves performing in sign language. Among other issues, it takes attention away from skilled Deaf performers because most hearing viewers can't tell the difference in quality. More info here: Hearing people signing songs: cultural appropriation (And I agree in this case that if there is blame to be had, it falls squarely on the teachers and adults responsible, not the students.)
Finally, I just want to say I have zero issue with him selling something using this video. Deaf people *should* get paid to teach ASL (clarifying edit: I said this because a lot of hearing people try to teach ASL on the internet and don't do it well. Ideally one should learn from Deaf people, and said Deaf people should be compensated, which is exactly what this person is trying to accomplish by promoting himself). He made a cool and informative video, I know people took it as him being mean to the students but I genuinely don't think that was the intent, and then he super quickly advertised his service. Seems fine to me
"Six weeks into the term, I assigned my rhetoric and writing students a 20-page article. It was the same length I had assigned for five years and the same length I had read without complaint as an undergraduate a decade ago. Not one student finished it.
When I asked why, a student answered honestly: It was too long, and she kept losing track of what the paper was about. This was not a remedial class: These were students who had cleared the admissions process and written essays good enough to get them here. Yet a routine academic reading assignment had defeated them.
Every generation of professors has complained that their students cannot read. The lament is usually overblown, but data have caught up to anecdote, and what I am seeing in my classroom is no longer a hunch. There is a measurable, generational collapse in sustained reading and writing, and the academy is responding to it with improvisation and exhaustion rather than the structural overhaul it requires.
In February 2024, Adam Kotsko, who teaches in the Shimer Great Books School at North Central College, wrote in Slate that students who once handled 30 pages of reading per class meeting now seem “intimidated by anything over 10 pages and seem to walk away from readings of as little as 20 pages with no real understanding.” Crucially, he added that this is “not a matter of laziness on the part of the students” but of underlying skills they were never given a chance to build.
The Chronicle of Higher Education’s 2024 investigation found the same pattern across institutions as different as the Stevens Institute of Technology and Wellesley College, where the average SAT exceeds 1400. Nicholaus Gutierrez, an assistant professor at Wellesley, told The Chronicle that the baseline for what students consider a reasonable amount of work has dropped so noticeably that he has cut his readings accordingly; a 750-word essay now strikes many students as long. At Stevens, the science and technology studies associate professor Theresa MacPhail described following the mantra of “meet your students where they are” for so long that she has begun to feel “like a cruise director organizing games of shuffleboard.”
Worse, the national data tell the same story in colder language. On the 2011 National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) writing assessment, which is the most recent comprehensive writing benchmark, only 24 percent of 12th graders reached the Proficient level, and just 3 percent reached Advanced; another 21 percent scored below Basic. The reading side of the ledger is worse, and getting worse fast: The 2024 NAEP results released in September 2025 show 12th-grade reading scores at the lowest level recorded since the assessment began in 1992. Thirty-two percent of 12th graders now score below NAEP Basic in reading, meaning that, in the assessment’s own language, they likely “cannot draw general conclusions based on concepts presented explicitly in a text.” And yet more than half of these same seniors reported being accepted to a four-year college. That last sentence is the whole problem in one line: We are admitting a cohort that cannot read at a college level and are pretending otherwise.
Why is this happening? One reason, of course, is smartphones.
I came into teaching as a skeptic of the anti-smartphone argument: I had a phone in my pocket throughout high school and college in the 2010s, and I read long books anyway. I now think I was wrong, because the neuroscience has caught up. In a 2017 paper, Adrian F. Ward and colleagues at the University of Texas at Austin’s McCombs School of Business showed that the mere presence of a participant’s smartphone — whether that be face down, powered off, untouched, or across the desk out of vision — measurably reduces available working memory and fluid intelligence on cognitive tests, with the largest effects on the most phone-dependent users. A 2022 study by Motoyasu Honma and colleagues at Japan’s Showa University used near-infrared spectroscopy to compare reading on a smartphone with reading the same passage on paper, and found that smartphone reading produced overactivity in the prefrontal cortex, suppressed sigh generation, and led to general lower comprehension scores; the authors argued that the sigh inhibition and prefrontal overload were causally linked to the comprehension decline.
So when a student tells me they “kept losing track” of a 20-page article, I have to acknowledge that they may be describing a measurable neurological condition. The neural pathways that support sustained attention are built by use, and they atrophy without it. Your body is a use-it-or-lose-it system, and the brain is no exception.
Another reason for the decline in student reading capability is increasing reliance on generative AI. In June 2025, Nataliya Kosmyna and colleagues at the MIT Media Lab released a preprint titled “Your Brain on ChatGPT.” They divided 54 participants into three groups writing SAT-style essays — one using ChatGPT, the second group using a search engine, the last group using nothing — and monitored brain activity with a 32-channel EEG. The ChatGPT group showed the lowest neural connectivity of the three, with up to 55 percent reduced connectivity compared with the brain-only group, and “consistently underperformed at neural, linguistic, and behavioral levels.” Eighty-three percent of LLM users could not quote a single line from essays they had written minutes earlier. When the LLM group was forced to write without AI in a follow-up session, their brain activity did not bounce back to baseline; the researchers coined the term “cognitive debt” for the lingering deficit.
This is the first neurophysiological evidence that early reliance on LLMs measurably alters the brain’s engagement with writing tasks, and it is consistent with what those of us in front of classrooms are watching happen in real time. When I assign analysis, I am not trying to extract a polished product; I am trying to put the student’s mind through resistance in order to make it stronger. Offloading the struggle to a chatbot does not “free students up for higher-order work.” It deprives them of building the strength to do any substantial cognitive work at all.
There is a final factor that is contributing to this decline in reading skills, and that is that the students arriving in my classroom today are the first cohort to have experienced Common Core-influenced reading instruction across the entirety of their K–12 schooling. Whatever the standards’ original intent, the on-the-ground implementation in many districts replaced sustained reading with the practice of pulling “evidence” from disconnected short passages, the same format used on the standardized tests that increasingly determine school funding. The education scholar Natalie Wexler, among others, has documented this pivot in detail: Students drilled on “finding the main idea” in two-paragraph excerpts never build the stamina or background knowledge that longform reading requires. The pandemic then added fuel to a fire that was already burning. NAEP scores for 13-year-olds dropped sharply in 2022 and have not recovered. A 2023 EdWeek survey found that 24 percent of secondary-school administrators described pandemic learning loss in English and language arts as “severe or very severe.”
In July 2025, the journalist Mary Harrington argued in The New York Times that “thinking is becoming a luxury good.” The ability to read deeply and reason at length is fragmenting along class lines as ultra-processed digital media replaces text in everyday life, much as ultra-processed food has replaced cooking. Her longer treatment of the subject in First Things makes the more provocative case that we are witnessing the end of print culture itself, and with it the end of the cognitive substrate on which modern liberal democracy was built.
I see this stratification in the classroom and on the page every week. My students from districts that protected sustained reading through small class sizes, strict phone policies, and faculty who refused to teach to the test all arrive with their attention relatively intact. My students from districts that surrendered to devices and standardized testing arrive cognitively winded. A democracy that requires a literate electorate is now training one fraction of that electorate out of literacy while marketing to the other a “deep work” lifestyle as a luxury good. The students who cannot read a 20-page article today are the voters who will not be able to read a bill, or the jurors who cannot follow a closing argument, tomorrow.
I do what I can in my own classroom to address the problems. I break 20-page articles into two halves and assign the first half with explicit analytical tasks. I require exploratory writing before formal drafts. I model (visibly, on the board) how to track an argument across pages or distinguish a source’s claim from my own analysis. I make structured peer review explicit, because the workshop format I used to take for granted now collapses into “this is good” and “maybe add more details” the moment I step back.
But I want to be plain about the limits of what an individual instructor can do, and all of these solutions have costs. Scaffolding a 20-page article into halves compromises the integrity of the argument I am asking students to engage, just as modeling note-taking in a credit-bearing rhetoric course is using a college slot to teach a middle-school skill. None of the syllabi I teach are designed to deliver this type of cognitive rehabilitation, and pretending otherwise has produced credential inflation. We cannot keep conferring degrees on students who cannot do what the degree is supposed to certify.
I’m afraid I don’t have answers. I do, however, have some questions that may point us in the right direction. If higher education is going to respond to the reading crisis as a structural problem rather than a private burden carried by composition instructors and adjuncts, it has to stop avoiding the following questions: If a majority of incoming students cannot read at a level the curriculum requires, are we admitting students we cannot serve, or offering a curriculum we cannot provide?
Why are first-year writing and reading-intensive general-education courses still the most adjunctified, lowest-paid, highest-load corner of the university, at the precise moment when their work has become the most important work the institution does? What is the responsible institutional response for AI usage: Is it a syllabus statement, or a sequencing principle that requires students to demonstrate the cognitive work themselves before AI assistance is permitted?
Why are most college classrooms still phone-permissive by default? K–12 districts from Florida to California are now banning phones bell to bell; higher education has somehow lagged behind the public schools. Universities benefit from a pipeline they did not build and refuse to repair. What would it mean for a university system to invest seriously in the reading instruction happening in the high schools that feed it, rather than treating remediation as something to be quietly outsourced to first-year composition instructors?
The thing I am no longer willing to do is pretend this is a temporary adjustment period, or that “students will adapt.” They will not adapt on their own. The conditions that produced this collapse are still in place: the phones, the algorithmic feeds, the test-prep excerpts, staffing models that load the reading-intensive work onto the most precarious faculty, and now the chatbots that finish students’ sentences before they’ve even begun to think of them. If we want literate citizens, we will have to rebuild the conditions for literacy deliberately, against the grain of every incentive currently pointed the other way. I know the academy has the will to do that. It also has the obligation."
— Tyler Jagt, 1 June 2026, "My Students Can’t Read"
The generational collapse in literacy is measurable, persistent, and likely to get worse.
I want to be very clear on this: it is not just dependence on smartphones and phones causing mental atrophy. It's that for decades we have taught Three Cueing System as a way to read, and while we are now beginning to correct, it is catching up with us. The reliance on smartphones and short form video are in part a result of illiteracy, not necessarily a cause of it, because we have failed to give students the tools to actually read but also paired it with the belief that they can read. They do not seek remedial reading help but blame the materials for being unclear or too difficult, when the fundamental problem is that the more complex the text, the less functional the three cueing system is. They are often quite literally guessing what the text says by searching for words they recognize (or think they recognize but cannot verify) and texts rapidly become impenetrable nonsense. Of course people will reach for their phones when 90% of the text they encounter in their daily lives and schooling is not accessible to them!
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