It just happens so naturally, it seems.
In the past year I have consolidated most of my online activity onto Facebook. This is as surprising to me as it is to any Facebook naysayer reading this. I used to be one of you.
Creeping is an almost pointless endeavor if you don’t have a trusted friend to whom you can show your findings with attached commentary such as “OMG isn’t she so beautiful it’s so unfair!!” or “Look at how cute his old blog was!”
11. When will I get boobs
The internet is like that. A confused logic. Though mostly I think of it as a buffet.
I deliberately use search engines and click links to articles and products that don’t interest me, that I don’t like, and that never, in a thousand years, would I ever buy.
Whenever I get injured or sick, my go-to method is the ol’ “do nothing.” Yep. I do nothing. I continue on with my life, dragging my half-working body around like I’m the guy from Monty Python and The Holy Grail. “It’s just a flesh wound!” I shout as my arm falls off.
Is it just me, or do you find it sort of invasive when someone comes over to your house and uses your computer? It’s not like I have Google searches on there like “How to kill someone” or “Naked five-year-old boys riding horses and laughing” but there are some things that I’d like to keep private.
Eventually, though, you realize that all of his talk of being a “community builder at a web-based start up” means absolutely zero in terms of actual gainful employment, and become pretty convinced that he must be stealing TVs or something to pay rent.
Before that night — or the curvature of that night, those fuzzy outlines once again — I cared. I cared about my family; I cared about my friends; I cared (too much) about my ex-lovers; I cared about the future. To care is to step outside of oneself, to face the cold blade of another human on guard because some other human hurt her years ago.