Back in November I decided I would never ever use Facebook again. Because I hate it. Or I hate that it makes me detest everyone. So I started a notebook of all the status updates I *would* have made if I were allowing myself to login and, well, update.
I’d like a social outlet that isn’t Facebook, because FB is making me crazy and making me hate people and things that normally I like/enjoy. It is too much of them or they choose to do/share things that irritate me. Turns out that I am not bothered by small amounts of these things, but constant exposure to them grates on my nerves. I am Facebook intolerant.
I am conflicted, also, because it has commoditized me and everyone else and I’m not so comfortable having all my “stuff” out there. Except that it’s a super convenient way to put stuff out there that maybe someone will see and we’ll connect. This happens less and less, though. Or, the kinds of conversations I run across with the people I’m following are the, “Ugh, I don’t even want to get involved” variety. And I don’t have lots of time. So what it’s giving me is the facsimile of connection (and a lot of cute bunny and goat videos).
Lately, there’s less and less from actual people and more and more from organizations and groups and ads and people I don’t even know and likes by friends about things I don’t care about, and folks showing solidarity about this and that (Paris terrorist attacks trending now), trying to be the most supportive, the most sad, the most whatever. Blatant self-promotion. I hate being marketed to. And all of these joyful posts that are people’s attempts to make themselves grateful or thankful. I don’t even know how that can be irritating, but it is. I am one big, itchy, crabby spot about all of it.
I am absolutely sure that people are sick of reading about my rabbits, looking at my hiking pictures, watching me injure myself in yet another adventure in home improvement…but I’m also convinced that I’m much less annoying than everyone else, too. <–this is blatantly false. Statistically, I should be someone else’s big, itchy, crabby spot. Possibly they have already unfriended me.
Instant messaging, something I used to do fairly often, was better in some ways. I could talk *with* a person and it was directly. But, ultimately, that’s unsatisfying, too – when people don’t have time for it and you do and there isn’t a proper give and take.
I can’t even blog anymore. I still want the writing habit and the practice and some conversation with other people who care about what I’ve written (or have some sort of opinion), but there’s not really any payoff for putting things out there. People are also busy and there’s a kind of fly-by Facebook culture even outside of Facebook where you get response that’s been quickly dashed off, or a “like.” Don’t like me. TALK TO ME.
Occasionally, I am made uncomfortable knowing that anyone can read what I post publicly. But limiting the blog to invited guests is also weird. I still really like finding new friends via blogs and writing and connecting with people I have never actually met IRL. But I’m also older and warier and it seems like internet culture is just getting meaner. Fewer bunny pictures, more hate crimes. And not even because they actually hate, but because they like to hurt. Maybe I don’t want people knowing anything about me.
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Today I just updated things in my head because I want to figure out a way to live without Facebook. Wean myself off of it. Find some other way to be with the people I like that isn’t so unsatisfying. I’ve written some letters to that effect, but like everything else, they go out into the ether and may never generate the kind of response that I’d like. Or any response at all. I’m ok with that most of the time.
So, here are all of the things I would have posted. If I’d been posting.
- Today @work I made Death Stars. And yesterday I filled the hallway with Storm Trooper helmets. Someone remarked that these were “cute.” Pretty sure that’s not the word they were looking for.
- Sunday: went to one of those Brazilian churrosco (I always want to pronounce that “chiaroscuro,” which is a completely different thing) places that cost way more than I thought it would. I should have eaten more meat. Resolved: I do not like overcooked flank steak.
- The lady who renewed Oberon’s card at the library at one point referred to us as “mama and daddy.” I’m not sure why and I was not able to make my face do anything constructive in the face of that. It was simply horrifying.
- I had a terrible headache, so I googled “headaches” and “kombucha” (in case they are related) and WebMD basically told me I’m going to die if I make kombucha at home. Good to know, I guess.
- There is no actual fungus in kombucha (even though they call the SCOBY a mushroom). Technically, it is a symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeasts.
- Wow, Amazon has already processed my return. I’m pretty sure they said it would processed *after* they’d received the package, but the notification popped up just a couple hours after I dropped the box off at the UPS store. I am not complaining.
- This is kind of auspicious, really. I was going to do a continuous brew kombucha arrangement and I’d ordered a big glass beverage server with a spigot so I could easily harvest the fermented product without disturbing the SCOBY too much. But, after talking to K. about SCOBY homes, I went to Woodman’s and invested $4 in a half-gallon pickle jar (the pickles tasted like ass and went directly into the compost heap), and installed it there (or them, rather – K. gave me 2 SCOBYs). I was planning to move one over, but the server was cracked upon arrival, so I ended up sending it (the server) back (saved $30!). I’ll go pick up another pickle jar later this week. It’s a much better deal. Of course, drinking kombucha is still going to kill me…
- I woke up the other morning about 4x stiffer than I had been before I went to bed. Isn’t sleep supposed to be more restorative? I shouldn’t hurt this much.
- Reading “This Journal Belongs to Ratchet,” by Nancy Cavanaugh. I have a few things I want to tell Ratchet. Forget about your mother and just figure out who you are on your own. Also, I get being lonely, but the best way to make friends is by being yourself. Stop being embarrassed by your dad.
- 4:41 am. The wind is howling and I am hoping all my leaves have blown away.
- Exuberant rabbit greetings are the best. Whee-boing! I’m watching Hickory leap around the kitchen and “joy” is the word that comes to mind. This bun is so happy. When I worked at the animal shelter, we’d often say that the animal picks the person as much as the person picks the animal. That’s what they told me, too, at the rabbit shelter. If it is true, how do they know/decide? I look for a bun that seems interested – not too scared or wild or bitey – and healthy, can be held a little, cute (round faced rather than pointy nosed). A certain bunnality. Both Hickory and Uther were very chill buns. Piper Doe was a lover (I miss her!). And Oatmeal is a kisser. A kisser with an attitude.
- How do I do all the FB things without the FB?
There is so much more.