Beloved reader. Please indulge me. About six months ago I quit my Facebook account. After kicking that habit, I now hungrily grasp this opportunity to immerse in an unapologetic display of whatever enters my brain and share things with you I think are so worthy of checking out! Even though I will partially use 60pages as my electric cigarette to battle my addiction I’m not ashamed to say I still relish in that tiny moment of so-called heroism when I tell people about my choice to leave Facebook. I always try to make it as theatrical as possible by acting as stoic as possible. I even set people up to that inevitable moment in which personal information should be exchanged. I’m not proud of it. Really. Though when I apathetically utter the words, “I don’t have a Facebook account”, they are generally received in awe to my great satisfaction. How brave of a move that is of me, or how crazy, “risky” even!
But here is why, should you care. We all know that everything bad is also kind of delicious: Facebook gives you that evil ability to anonymously look down upon the daily calming routines in small town suburbia as experienced by former high school class mates; or you can check out your exes’s new girlfriends and convince yourself of the idea that you are so much cuter than they could ever be, or feverishly and Facebook-openly complain/post about the ”Post this as your status update if you believe/hope/want/love…” – phenomenon which implies that if you do not participate in this you really are a horrible person who in fact does not believe/hope/want/love.
This inappropriate, disproportionate, unassuming rant of insecurity in my head fed the urge to rise above these things in fear of getting associated with them. Because God forbid if that would happen. And that sad silliness got to be terribly exhausting, so I called it quits. I really miss it.