I am a complete and utter failure as a Facebook doyen. In terms of my personal efforts to connect on Facebook, those labors have ended in failure. It is that simple.
The first problem I have with Facebook is I am confused by the type of information I am supposed to share with others and I am muddled by the types of information you decide to share with me.
I am an introvert by nature. I don’t require the company of others, although if I have had a few glasses of wine (which, I have given up on too many occasions because of the following reason), I can pretend that I am funny and charming, but more importantly, I can pretend I find you pleasant and delightful. Usually, I do not.
More often than not, I find you charming and delightful in limited doses. But Facebook gives me several heaping spoonfuls of you on a daily basis.
And Facebook makes me competitive with you, when I am generally only competitive with myself. This causes me anxiety, which makes me think of you, which makes me think that perhaps you are the source of my anxiety and then the wires get crossed and I resent you because you caused my anxiety (which, I’ll concede you most likely did not).
Allow me to say that the only people with whom I have connected on Facebook are people from my Southern past and a few women or men like me (people who don’t really utilize Facebook to connect). I never receive the feeds from those like me on my wall and they never receive mine and these are my best Facebook relationships to date. I like these people very much. I think of them fondly. And then they post something to Facebook and for one reason or another, I don’t like them so much anymore.
Currently, if you were to view my Facebook wall, you would find three things of importance: A Spotify Top Playlist; a quote by Kurt Onnegut; and, nothing else. The nothing else comes because when I post an update to Facebook, I generally get no ‘likes’ or comments. This humiliates me. This makes me question your sense of humor. I delete the posts and pretend they were never there. It makes me feel better about myself (and maybe my relationship with you).
You would see my Spotify playlist. I do not want you to know that I listen to foolish music at my desk. I do not want you to know that I listened to a Simply Red song and cried to myself for an hour. But there it is for you to see and for your use when casting judgment upon me. No matter how many times I turn off this “Music Top Playlist Feature”, when I connect with Spotify, it turns itself on again…so, now you know that I listen to sappy music and that makes me embarrassed and now I think you caused my embarrassment, which makes me not like you so much.
You'll see my mini-protest against you and Facebook and how I feel about the whole thing. It is a quote by Kurt Vonnegut which reads,
True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country.
That quote received two likes. That is it…Out of all of my Facebook friends; there are only two friends who find this quote humorous. Oh, what is wrong with you people?
So, that is me…Facebook causes anxiety. It makes me question myself. I generally prefer not to delve deeper into my psyche, until I have been left no other choice; which, by the way, typically happens every 8-minutes or so. The fact that Facebook has now made me question myself every 2-minutes is a very big problem for me. And I blame you. That is me, but what about you?
Well, you cause me anxiety with your updates and requests. You cause me to want to rise up and throw some utter contemptuous comment on your wall. You do. You make me want to do this – to out you as an ignorant ass. And I don’t like that you make me feel like this and so I do not post a contemptuous comment on your wall and I resent you for putting me in this position in the first place.
To the Facebook Friend Who Changed Her Facebook Photo to that of Mitt Romney: I hail from your parts. I was also raised in the Mormon Church and so I know that there are exactly four Mormons in our hometown and I am related to every one of them. I also know that you are not one of them. You are of the Baptist sect and because the other side of my family is also of the Baptist sect, I know that Baptists are not particularly fond of Mormons. And so your Facebook photo tells me that you are either so afraid of another four years with a black president or are so fearful of higher taxes that you would risk your Southern salvation by endorsing a Mormon. That makes me worried for you. It makes me worried that others will discover my Facebook connection to you. It doesn’t make me happy.
To the Facebook Friend Who Posts this to Her Wall Every Friday:
"( / )( | )( )( | )( / )( | )( )( | )( / )( | )( )( | )( / )( | )( )( | )( / )( | )( )( | )( / ) ( | )( )( | )( / )( | )( )( | )( / )( | )( )( | ) Yup...I'm happy it's Friday!!! Aren't you?"
Let me begin by saying, I do like you. I don’t know why, but there is sweetness in your attempt to make others smile with jiggling bottoms every Friday. But every Friday? Do you mean to tell me that every Friday is a jiggling bottom kind of day for you? Because not all of my Fridays illicit this kind of enthusiasm from me. Take today. Today is Friday. I’m not in a jiggling bottom kind of mood. But there you are. Encouraging me to jiggle my bottom and be happy. And I don’t want to jiggle or embrace Friday’s glee, and so I resent you all the more.
To The Facebook Friend Who Posts Photographs of Lost and Abused Dogs: I have saved several dogs in my life. But your posts make me think I am not doing enough. When my son was two-years old, he was bitten by one of our rescues. As I was administering the first dose of antibiotics, I was cursing the world; cursing a society that disposed of animals in such a cruel way; and, more importantly, cursing myself. I was at fault.
Your posts remind me every day that our son was bitten by Gibson, the blind Chihuahua, who before we rescued him lived in a bird cage as a stud for years. He could barely walk and had seizures, which caused him to bite whatever or whoever was nearby. I took three stitches to the lip during one of his seizures.
My husband, the doctor, decided he could fix me up in our home, so he used a special super glue to close the wound. His finger became stuck to my lip and that’s when I lost it: forget the fear of a scar – the fear of my husband’s finger permanently locked to my lip made me inconsolable and I broke into uncontrollable sobs in our bathroom, made all the worse because every time I inhaled or exhaled, my husband’s finger moved as well.
When our son took a bite to the leg, I knew that it was our son or the Chihuahua. I chose our son. I’m glad I did. Our son doesn’t bite.
But now, every time I see your photos of the dogs that have been abandoned, I think of our rescues. I think of the fact that we needed to be rescued from our rescue. And, I don’t like you very much for reminding me.
To the Ex-Boyfriend Who Is Convinced I Could Have Changed His Life if Only He Had Known Better: First, let me begin by saying that I wish you would have had that revelation when I was using my $300 weekly paycheck to support your growing weed habit. I wish you had had this epiphany when I was attending school and would get up in the morning for work, go to school, come home with my $300 and find you in the same place where I had left you – in bed; until which time, you would get up and shower, ask to borrow a few dollars and go out again to meet up with your nurse friends and then return, as I was leaving for school and work.
I have told you it is okay because we were young and we didn’t know better. But we did know better. You knew better. And, now you serve as a constant reminder to me that I am a glutton for punishment from the male species and I do not like constant reminders (see all of the above). And since you broke up with me, I understand that you are gainfully employed. I think your life turned out better.
To the World Traveler Who Posts Cool Photos of Her Latest Jaunts: I get it. You are cool. I am not. I get it. You travel. I do not. I get it. You are worldly. I am not. I was. At one time, I traveled quite often. But now I am a mom and a worker and I do not travel as much. I prefer my children to an overnight to London, but you do make me remember that I do not travel right now (not after the last flight with two toddlers). I do not like to remember.
To the Inspiration/Religious Maven Who Posts Mimes That Say God Does Not Give Us More Than We Can Handle: God does give many people more than they can handle. In fact, I have a few friends who decided to tell God, “I quit”. It was too much for them to handle. Then there are my friends who found themselves comatose after a pregnancy, in bed for weeks with a little one in the basinet next to them begging for the day their depression would end. That was more than they could handle.
I also have friends who lost their parents to murder. I have friends who have lost their children. This is much more than they could handle.
But I don’t think God had a hand in this madness. I think it was the luck of the draw – a driver with a martini obsession who swerved; a chemistry that went haywire with hormones; in other words, stuff happens.
So, we do not think alike. And I do not like that you even make me consider your brand of optimism. I rather like being a fatalist. I also do not like thinking about bad things. And when I see your posts, I think a lot of bad things. Mostly, I think I would like to throw a few terse comments on your wall, but I don’t. And now you see the problem.
To The Game Player: I once posted the following to my Facebook wall:
"Friends and family. Please do not send me invitations to play games. I don't play games. I do not like games."
These friends obviously do not read my Facebook feed, because I continue to receive invites to all sorts of games, such as "Photo of the Day", some pretend community having to do something with farms, Words for Friends...
I once spent twenty dollars to determine who had listed me as "not cool" in "21 Questions".
It turned out my 16-year old nephew was the culprit.
"21 Questions" is a dangerous game. I know because I then answered questions about Facebook friends and was wild with enthusiasm as I was working myself through an honest assessment of you, until which time I realized you could view my answers.
There are more, so many more of these little jolts in my brainwaves and it is all caused by Facebook.
More specifically, it is caused by your posts to Facebook. And therein lies the problem. None of it is good, because it causes me to think at times during my day when I should probably be working to quiet my mind.