I'd Rather Not Face Facebook

I am not okay. I am not as good as you, as smart as you, as astute as you. That is how I feel. I am not as thin as you, either. What has me in this state? Facebook, an encyclopedia of everyone I ever met or ever knew in my entire life. I have only viewed these people in one conglomeration like this in unpleasant dreams, forgotten ten minutes after awakening. Do I need to know who is friends with whom or who is feeling what? Must I be repeatedly reminded of the credentials and accomplishments of former classmates who slid into prep school easily, while I somehow hobbled in, and hobbled quite a bit wile I was there? Egad. My identity is dropping in pieces all over the place, like so much manure on a lawn. And I don't even use my real name.

How did I get into this bizarre dilemma? No one put a gun to my head and commanded me to join. Well, first I was curious. Months passed. Then I saw all of my cute little midwestern relatives and it seemed so convenient that they are all on Facebook. What better way to be more in touch with my in-laws et al? Well folks in the midwest are friendly, happy to have friends, and friendly. I mean, very friendly. Folks here are commenting on every social ill, sophisticated to a fault, and/or ignoring my friend requests. Ouch.

Okay, it was just one person, or maybe one and a half. And it's not like I thought "I must contact these people." It's like I thought "I am so bored, maybe I will contact Bitsy and Patsy." Well Bitsy became my "friend," but said nothing. I was at her wedding! (Everyone, including her mother, told me how great I looked. That was a long time ago.) And Patsy did not respond at all. Naturally since I have nothing else to do (teaching, friends, sick kids, sick me, appointments, kids, cleaning), I thought about it a lot. What, me, ruminate? There is a reason that they may not want to speak to me and it has to do with me speaking up about a teacher we had who abused boys in our class. So now I have crossed from the trivial mindlessness of Facebook to deciding that these two people I have not seen in years are offended because I wrote a testimonial about a pedophile. Am I insane? I think, maybe, yes.