Facebook freaks me out. I’m on it, I have “friends” and I check it almost every day to see what people are saying, but it really does freak me out. It’s not the privacy issue and I don’t even mind the stupid posts that people sometimes write because I can always just stop reading. But I’ve discovered that Facebook feeds two of my insecurities: that people won’t remember who I am and that people won’t be interested in what I have to say.
I just spent some time looking at friend’s friend lists. Most of them have more than I do and once in a while I think that I should friend a few more people. So I was checking out people’s lists to see who I know. (I know they have that find friends tool, but that’s not as much fun.) I saw lots of people I knew, at least Facebook “know” them. That is to say, I recognize their names and could tell you that I went to high school with them or used to work with them or whatever. I certainly don’t know them know them. Most of them I wouldn’t recognize on the street. Anyway, so say I’m looking at a high school classmate’s friend list and see another high school classmate. I think “I should friend them,” and then I think, “but what if they don’t remember me” or “what if they get the friend request and think ‘yuck, I don’t want to be her Facebook friend’” It’s like high school all over again! The possible rejection, the cliques… what if no one likes me!
Ok, I just bit the bullet and send friend requests to about ten people. It’s stupid to be nervous about it, it’s not like it’s an actual friendship. I don’t have to talk to these people and if they don’t respond, I just tell myself “well, they probably don’t go on Facebook very often.” (By the way, it’s taking me forever to write one thousand words because I keep going on Facebook!) When I get a friend request, more often than not I think “Oh, I remember him. I wonder what he’s up to” and click accept. I have no reason to believe that the people I send requests to won’t do the same!
The other stressful part of Facebook is posting. That probably sounds crazy for someone who writes a blog, but I don’t tell people about my blog. Only three or four people even know about it, so when I write I don’t worry about how the people reading it are going to react because I know they all ready know and like me. On Facebook, everyone reads it. And if it’s stupid, they’ll think I’m stupid. So I tend to post only very rarely and if I think it’s clever. And more often or not, I go back on later and delete it, especially if no one has commented on it, just so there’s no record of my post. I’m probably the only person on Facebook that does that!
Hey, three people have all ready accepted my friend request! I feel better all ready!
Well, I’ve run out of things to write about Facebook. I seem to be struggling tonight. It’s funny, but I seem to struggle on the milestone posts. This is my fiftieth and here I am rambling. I think I did that on my thirtieth too.
Ok, so this isn’t really Facebook related, but I’m now friends with him on Facebook, so I’m going to write about it anyway. When I was a little girl, I lived in an apartment building. When I was five or so, there was a boy a year old than me in one of the other apartments. His name was Eddie and we used to play together all the time. I remember the apartments had an old wooden garage and we used to write on the walls with chalk. I distinctly remember writing the lyrics to Glenn Campbell’s Rhinestone Cowboy, for some strange reason. There was also a brook and a bridge. We used to throw sticks and leaves into the brook on one side of the bridge and see how long it tool for them to get to the other side. (My mother had a fit when I told her about that recently. I guess she had no idea her little girl used to play in the road. But at least it was a dirt road!) Eddie used to ride his bike all the time, even in the snow. And he used to get up really early and stand outside my window yelling “HEEEEATHERRRR. HEEEEATHERRRR.” And I’d rush to get up, get dressed and run outside to play and by the time I got there, he would have gotten sick of waiting and gone back inside. He lived with a single mom too. All I remember about her is that she had really long hair and she taught me how to do search for word puzzles. They didn’t live there very long and I never heard from him again.
I was at a volunteer fair a while back and a guy walked up to me. He said, “You aren’t from Hartland Four Corners by any chance, are you?” When I said I was he said “I used to know a Heather Jean Clow from Hartland Four Corners.” It was Eddie! I was completely floored. You know what it’s like to have these memories and kind of forget about them and then they all come rushing back. That’s what happened to me. I have no idea how Eddie, oh sorry he goes by Ed now, remembered my middle name, but I was the type of kid that was probably very insistent that my middle name was Jean and everyone should call me that. Maybe that’s one thing Facebook is good for, reconnecting you with those people, the ones that you remember fondly. And we should just unfriend the rest!