Today I have Facebook on my mind. All those fun times wallowing in other peoples’ lives through their photos and posts, …….. mmmmmm ….. offered up, by them, on a silver platter. Transmission was received with the swipe of a finger. Nosiness? Meet laziness. Boredom? Meet cure. Aaaahhhhhhhh. Do I miss it? A little bit, yeah. But mostly the “me” part of it. That is, posting MY witticisms and MY photos to prove to everyone how funny I am.
My own Facebook ALWAYS clapped and cheered and laughed or wept loudly and appropriately as I presented my own naked and true self to him and those who “I friended.” Be it for praise or beat-downs, silent judgement or vocal approval I received, I needed it from Facebook. I viewed Facebook as a person and I liked to tell him and show him every new and marvelous part of my life like a 6 year-old might a first friend. I wanted to know what “HE” had to say about these things. 94% of the time he was agreeable with his comments. Heck, he even made some bitchin’ new connections and reconnections for me. But then there was that other 6%.
Naturally, I joined Facebook with the legions that mass-herded from MySpace as if the plague of being uncool was gnashing at our heels. We hated the change. So plain. No music or backgrounds? Blech. Icky-ick. ….. oh, people are actually using this thing? And liking it? Okay. I folded like a T-Shirt at the Gap.
Yipee! This is fun! Poke! Like! Post! Super-Poke! Like like like like! Post post post! Weeeeeee! That was 94% of the time.
Then 6% Came a knockin’ and I’m like, No! No! That’s not what I meant in my comment! How did I fuck that shit up? Delete! delete!!!! FUCK! SHIT FUCK! Oh, instant message …. phone call … all things FUBAR No … that’s not … Ah, I’m fucked.
And that shit would eventually resolve itself and blow over and the 94% would continue. I’d say during the six or so years that Facebook and I dated, he turned on me once a year like that. And so it went.
Facebook had slept on the couch many nights by our 5th year together. He caused fights between me and my friends. Like BIG, SCARY fights. He got me in trouble at work one year. He liked to stir the pot. Usually out of made-up arguments or misunderstandings. I’d be SO caught off guard. Frankly, I was starting to get a little sick of his shit, but how could I ever fully live without him? Who would I tell my stories to? Who would listen to ME?
The final straw came this past year when I almost let Facebook mechanically separate a 30-year friendship between 3 people, one being myself. I broke up with him that very second and somehow, this made things worse. He works in ways that fuck your shit up no matter WHAT you do. Quit him? Fucked. Stay? Fucked plus fucked once again every year. I hadn’t realized what a monster of a sidekick I’d been battling. When you suddenly quit, everyone on your friends list who doesn’t get a personal phone call will think you have given them the ultimate snub: THE UNFRIENDING.
Like I said, fucked either way.
Without a Facebook Account, there are two facial expressions you should expect to see a LOT of.
YOU’RE NOT ON FACEBOOK?
DID YOU UNFRIEND ME?
Seeing my friends in real life is much better. When we meet, we have things to say to each other. Sometimes I actually pick up the phone and call people. Because I can’t wallow in every nuance of their virtual selves EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. With a half-inch fat-ass lazy-as-fuck movement of my finger. Because NOW I actually CARE!
Leaving Facebook behind has felt kind of like “growing up” and I haven’t been shy with my “Oh, Facebook? Never heard of it.” remarks around the house. I can’t help it. I feel free of shackles. I feel like I quit smoking again.
I’ll just have to continue to laugh at myself to confirm that I’m funny. That should be the easy part.