Skip to main content

Bloggy Blog #26

        Last week, with just a few short clicks, I put to rest (or likely, a Rip Van Winkle-esque nap) my internet version of an ankle monitor. I've tried this plenty of times before, so I am not putting much stock into it for the time being. The URL still rests in the drop down menu, Google magically filling in what it thinks I must be looking for whenever I type anything with an "f" or the word "book." Chrome auto-fill settings can be such a manipulative little bitch. Come on, it's right here, ready for you. 

No. Not any time soon. 

There were events that led up to this unhinging. For starters, a long time ago I disabled commenting. For some reason, this upset a great deal of people. Birthdays would pass and people would get very angry because they couldn't write on my wall. Okay then. Noted. Interestingly enough, once I removed my date of birth from my profile, the happy birthday notifications died down considerably. 


Another action I chose (or stopped choosing, rather) was to cease updating said wall with anything of my own. It certainly wasn't due to lack of reactions or "likes." I just didn't care to update it. Once again, for some reason others took issue with this. Some thought I was deliberately hiding posts specifically from them. This process was successfully ongoing for about three years before last week's actions. 



The final nail in the coffin came with the absolutely absurd idea to download the messenger application for my phone. This soon became the primary medium to chat with others. Great! However, it also became the medium of me staring at my phone waiting for light notifications. I was finding myself unable to go about my day without having to address these messages. Because frankly, I had to. This application in particular features time stamps whether or not you (or the sender) read a message. I found that others were using such a microscopic feature to paint an even larger picture as to why you didn't respond to them right away. The time stamp feature became unnecessarily invasive, and there was no escaping me feeling obligated to explain why the application said I was active at 3:25AM. After about the 4,267th irrelevant yaks to others regarding such a trifling circumstance, I removed the application from my phone. 

A short time later, I disabled my account. 

In the week or so since I disabled it, roughly five of the two-hundred "friends" noticed such and felt compelled to inquire. I've offered explanations, but I'm sure they merely glossed over the details. The narratives they've developed are already etched in stone. He is blocking me and me alone. And that's fine, they're entitled to feel however they want. 

Just like I am. 

Popular posts from this blog

Bloggy Blog #84

The first time I visited, I had to park across the street in the lot of an abandoned gas station. The lot itself went up a slight hill, and the station's sign would occasionally spin some slow turns whenever the town spirits wanted to have some fun.  She lived in a questionably constructed building on the second floor of this sleepy Revolutionary War town, adjacent to a craft store that was hardly ever open. In the basement sat a four-lane bowling alley and a small bar. It was by appointment only, which really meant the building's landlord had to be there to serve drinks and keep an eye on the action. I didn't get a chance to bowl down there, but seeing the construction of the building, this was probably a good thing. When she moved out of her place, part of the process involved placing a three-foot wide plank over the bowling alley basement stairs, in order to move big furniture out. Needless to say she left the heavy lifting to the moving experts.  The new plac...

Bloggy Blog #97

   A few weeks ago, the last of my father's counter top appliances went kaput. It was an unnecessarily large microwave. I used it from time to time to heat up frozen dinners for him, or to reheat my own leftovers. He used it a whole lot more than I ever did, specifically to reheat coffee. He'll brew his little hotel-sized pot of coffee every morning around six-thirty, pour it into a cup, place a lid on it, then let it sit on the kitchen table. About two hours later I'm up and moving around, and that cup is still on the table. He'll reheat it before 9:30, then leave it covered on the table. Sometimes he will reheat it two or three times, thirty seconds to a minute each, in the span of an hour. I don't know what the proper temperature he desires for his coffee, but most of the time, whatever it is, is not it. So he puts a lid on it and just...walks away.  My parents moved into this apartment fifteen years ago. I was living three time zones away at the time, unable to ...

Bloggy Blog #93

  In all fairness, I've just stopped counting the years. I mean, I know how old I am today, sure. I just don't care to tell anyone. And there's nothing wrong with this approach, really. I'm not lying on any application forms, nor any other random documents that ask for my date of birth. Those who need to know, know. And that should be good enough, right? A friend recently asked if I knew what time I was born. For some reason I thought this was listed on birth certificates, but they are not - at least not back then at this particular hospital. I remember my mother saying sometime in the very early hours overnight, to perhaps sometime at dawn. I also remember her saying I was supposed to be born on the 16th. That must have been pretty annoying for her. Imagine hoping to get some rest overnight and then BOOM, it's time. Guess I needed an extra day's nap in there? Who knows. I do share a birthday with a handful of celebrities and great people. Michelle Obama, Jim Ca...