I think about this
just about every day often, which is to say I think hard about leaving “The Facebook.”
How many times do log in as if I’m checking off a to-do-list item? The newsfeed pops up and I spend precious minutes scrolling through while wondering why I’m spending precious minutes scrolling through and think: J’m ‘en fous! God knows I could have spent those minutes brushing up on my long lost French.
Then I come back the next day, like a smoker who needs that first morning hit from a fresh Marlboro Light, and log right in and take another fucking drag.
This morning I followed my friend to the door and cracked it open. Some low light filtered in. I stripped down my Facebook page down to the bare nothings: no photos, no profile, no info, no posts. It felt good to disappear a little at a time. I didn’t leave altogether, there’s still a shadow of the me who used to be there — a literal shadow where my profile picture used to be — but even as I logged out I wondered who The Facebook Me really is. Or was.