On Monday, I quit Facebook and my sister tweeted to ask if I was okay. My babysitter’s husband wanted to know, “What happened to her?”
“Are you okay?” A friend lovingly asked placing her hand on my shoulder. “Did someone say something?”
“Oh, um, just like did someone say something to make you so mad?”
“Other than right now?”
“I’m just trying to help.” (This might explain why I don’t have many friends. Heads up! This post just got sad.)
A third friend sent me a concerned email, asking if I wanted to “talk.”
No one has been this concerned about me since I was in college and played rugby for one semester. When I started showing up to class with bruises and then, eventually, a black eye, a professor gave me a domestic violence handout. Another professor told me I could tell her anything if I needed to, which I assume meant I should tell her about the person beating me up and not about that dream I had where I somehow only spoke Latin and ate my roommate, but it was okay because we later learned that she’d managed to donate her body to Salisbury steak. Potato. That dream.
“It’s okay, I am just playing a sport!” I would protest. No one looking at me believed that I even knew my way around balls, which was only partially true since I was raised Baptist.
This week, I find myself making similar protestations. “I’m okay! I’m just tired of losing myself in an abyss of meaninglessness.”
“Your status updates bore me.”
“I fell! Leave me alone!”
The truth is that for the past four years, I’ve run the Facebook page for a company. In that time, I’ve brought the number of fans up from zero to over 56K and climbing. I read about Facebook. I dream about Facebook. I have to look at Facebook before I read, before I write. When I wake up and before I lie down. And sometimes, when I click over to another tab on my browser, I find myself unconsciously typing in “F-A-C-E…” whether or not I want to go there.
It’s like Zuckerberg stole my soul.
I recently took a new job that relieved me of some of my Facebook duties. So, I took the opportunity to detox. It’s been two days and I am dying. Like how am I going to live without knowing what someecard is making you “LOLZ”, or which status update I need to copy and paste so I can support kids with cancerdiabetiesheartdiseasericketts,or spy that random picture of your kid with the hairbow that is bigger than her face? HOW?
I mean, what will I look at all day in order to while away my time when I am supposed to be working/reading/writing/cleaning/talking to my husband/feeding my child/showering?
Oh, yeah. THIS.
Don’t worry. I’m still on the Twitter.