Twitter: Because you need to know I'm about to pee
I might be mildly embarrassed. I can't decide how to feel.
But I think I'm starting to like Twitter.
But Twitter? It's nothing but these little 140-character-max updates. No room for anything of substance. Seemed totally retarded.
It also seemed like regression: back to the earliest blogs and personal websites in the '90s, where you informed everyone about important issues like your lunch menu and when you were heading to the bathroom.
But my publisher insisted it was freaking awesome, and a few friends have been insisting how much they enjoy it, so joined in early January, and the past week, I've actually gotten active on it.
And I think I like it.
It turns out I have all sorts of little ruminations and minor amusements throughout the day that are insufficient to blog about, or even call a friend or pound out an email. I'm starting to toss them onto Twitter.
It takes a little training. At first, I posted really lame stuff, just to make myself post something. It took about three days to warm up to the point where I was getting the urge at the right time: where the thought went off, that "Hey, Twit that." (The "correct" verb is apparently tweet. No thank you.)
So I'm not posting my bathroom breaks. I am ruminating about all this PT and body-repair I'm going to. It feels like a full-time job, almost, fixing all these beat-up bodyparts.
I don't think I've actually done that well yet.If you visit my twits, I doubt you'll get a clear sense of that. But I'm getting there.
I'm not yet convinced anyone wants to read my stuff there. I'm not convinced I want to read much from others. But that's OK, I guess. There are writers and there are readers and there are people who enjoy both.I don't swing both ways on that one.
So I'll keep twittering whether anyone shows up or not.