My Divorce From Facebook

About a month ago, I disabled my Facebook account.

Few people noticed.

Fewer asked me about it.

Which, in the end, after all these weeks, is why I am not upset about my intention to separate myself from this particular social medium.

I wasted an insurmountable time on Facebook.  It began to take my evenings from me.  I compared my photos to those of my friends, and worse, rather than celebrate folks lives, I began to have a sneaking suspicion that most of my intake of folks' updates was causing me a bit of sadness.

Okay, to the point, now.

I'm really tired of comparing myself, my life and my lack of accomplishments to people I love- it's sick, morose and sad.

I'm tired of friends comparing notes about the number of drinks they can consume without passing out.

Or the tension publicly displayed via page comments upon one another's pages.

I'm tired of looking at boob-shots and jock shots.  (I'm not prude, but seriously?  C'mon).

I'm tired of people's usage of the f-bomb on my page- my boss reads my page.  So does my Mom.  I cuss like a sailor, don't get me wrong, but not on a social media site.

Folks have every right to post as they please, compare their 2 year-old's $1,000+ birthday party expenditures and such.  But as they say...rather than complain, fight buy in to a hot mess, just exit the premises.  So, sadly, I've chosen not to involve myself.

With no ability to get a grasp on things, I bailed on the entire adventure...it's like therapy, but without meds.

And it's proven to be thoroughly productive.  Given such a separation, this venue gives me the chance to indulge in a few things I love.  It allows me the freedom to once again remember what it is that I'm good at, without the constant upkeep of "keeping up with the Jones'".  Also admitting that my time spent on Facebook is not well-harnessed by your's truly, I've moved on to better ventures, until I can presume my relationship with a little bit more maturity.

So there it is.  The folks closest to me might get it.  There's little to be gained in life, by the comparison of one's self to a mass of people.

So, instead of comparing my own "lacking," I've started a garden.  And I've used my KitchenAid a lot. I've written notes and mailed them, via snail mail.  Like when you use a pen to write on a card and then stick the card in an envelope, slap a stamp on it, and pass it off to the Post Woman (who in my neck of the woods is very much like Pheobe, from Friends.

Anyway, there it is.

I love people and it's never my intent to hurt or overlook, but Facebook is just not how I choose to maintain my relationships with the people I love.

Dang, it feels good to be a gangsta.

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