Recently I resurrected my Facebook account. I needed to keep abreast on the page my company has, and so (with great reluctance) I went and signed on again with my account.
For months now while my Facebook lay deactivated, I needed another crowd to be part of, so I took to tweeting every so often. After I while I go use the chaotic home page and the amount of scrolling my thumb endured on my iPhone. Yet I started to feel at home in this world.
I guess I was annoyed with people on Facebook, and when some people are your friends and acquaintances, you don’t really want to hear about their frivolous social meandering, and sometimes you’re too scared to delete them at the same time. If you delete them…then you’ll be totally alone. No one around to annoy you, or play the part of a tiny voice (you’d rather swat than kill). It’s a catch 22, really.
So after barring myself from Facebook lurkers, and cyberphants I went about adding (or ‘following’ to use the correct jargon) all the interesting people, continents and air-fares away that shared a common interest. It was fun and exciting, and although it wasn’t going to help me get laid any sooner, it was at least a giant play-toy to keep my energetic brain at bay.
Getting back onto Facebook I started thinking, aren’t these posts pointless? Did I really have the gumption to find this drivel interesting once-upon-a-time? I think I’ve grown old. When a social network no longer excites you, it’s time to hire extra pall bearers, since the chances are…you’re aging.
It this groovy and expanding world, it feels sacrilege to admits this, but Facebook started to feel…awkward. I’m not the social network whore I used to be. I’m thriving on little chirps because they make me feel at ease now.
Occasionally it can be mindless, but I love the way everything is shorter, succinct. You don’t have space to write pages and pages of awful poetry. You only have 160 characters, and you’d better make seriously special if you interested in holding my attention.