Social media is a tempestuous beast that has managed to wrangle us into her web of egotistical bullshit and my god I love. She is the Regina George of social activity: The more she hurts you or demeans you in anyway, the more you try to impress her, wearing chicken cutlets, lip-gloss, and all pink to become popular. For a mind obsessed with getting it right, it’s a fucking nuisance.
Occasionally a friend will pop up on my timeline and make those sweeping goddamn gestures that last roughly a day: “I am leaving social media. If you need me, call me.” It lights up synapses in my brain like a fucking car crash. The idea of blissfully stripping my brain naked of the confines of re-tweets quivers my bosom so.
But I am a creature of garbage and am desperately cloying for attention. I literally print off likes from my Facebook posts, sluice them down until they are greasy oil, spread them on a wooden splintered floor and writhe around in them. I live for social media because, on the one hand, it is the ultimate ego boost. The other because if I am not in constant communication with the human race, particular my friends and the vibrant film industry, my brain would explode in a firework display of fleshy parts. You are caught between wishing to have balance by being able to put it down and being Steve Tyler (…..you don’t wanna miss a thing…yeah, OK.) Social media IS the city that never sleeps and you could leave it for a day and find yourself behind the curve.
We should all learn to paddle away a bit more.