This weekend I thought briefly about getting back on Facebook. Then I took another sip of wine and realized that it wasn’t going to happen. To be honest, I am not big on social media. Not because I’m just too cool for school, it’s just that social media overwhelms me. Every time. I have no Facebook, I don’t have Twitter, and lately I’ve even been Instagram failing. Instagram–where all you have to do is put up a picture–exhausts me.
Is it because everyone else is having such a great life? Maybe. But I have realized (and I know this is a trip because I write a blog that is all about me) that I really am not that interesting. I don’t think that a picture of my family standing in front of some scenery is interesting to anyone else but my family. And when I say my family, that excludes me. Nor do I think that a picture stating some random accomplishment of mine is very exciting to anyone else either. “Hey look at me! I just finished a triathlon! I’m so great!” (Although I think if I posted that, either the next line would be “By, that, I meant finished watching one. Haha.” Or an obituary containing the following statement,”Vida was awarded an honorary triathlon trophy after her attempt to put on a Lycra suit before the event resulted in an explosion killing her and wounding four others, three of whom are in still in critical condition.”)
The bad thing is, if you are a decent person, when other people post stuff like this and you know them personally–or, really, even if you don’t–you are forced to be positive. You can’t look at someone’s Instagram picture of their meal at Red Robin all smiling and pointing at their burger and leave a message underneath that says “BOOORING!” It’s rude. And then other people call you names and caps yell at you and tell you how jealous you are. Of a burger.
I don’t Twitter because I would buckle under the pressure of having something witty and interesting to say. I don’t have to be witty and interesting in real life because I’m pretty. (None of that is true. I don’t have to be witty and interesting because I’m already married so I don’t have to make friends if I don’t want to. The Big Man is stuck listening to whatever I feel like prattling on about.)
I guess I could post all of my fails to Instagram and such. Like instead of posting a picture of a delicious meal that I cooked, post one where I failed miserably and ended up with some type of burnt goo. Or instead of me looking hot in an outfit, post one where only prayer and a blowtorch could get me out of said outfit. Oh, and how about instead of posting how pretty my makeup looks, post the time I tried the smoky eye and ended up looking like the Hamburglar.
I actually sat down to write about something else entirely. I have no idea how I got here. Oh well. I’m going to go post this on Instagram now. Be sure to like me! Or you can message “BOOOORING!” if you want.