I acknowledge my Twitter account about as often as I intentionally throw myself down a flight of stairs. It’s like having a hicky above your eyebrow or a non-athletic son. I’m just embarrassed to have it and I question its purpose on a daily basis.
You may be asking yourself, why am I reading this b***shit? That, I couldn’t tell you. So hopefully you are asking, if you curse the very existence of Twitter, why do you have an account, a-hole? Take a breath and I’ll fill you in.
A fellow writer/friend/literary confidant we’ll call “M” had been encouraging me to sign up for this “twitter” business for quite awhile. I was apathetic. Uninterested. Dare I say, blasé? I had no interest in being part of some sort of community that involved “following” one another. What is that? That’s like the creepiest Dateline ever. That’s like a Gin Blossoms song. That’s like hearing footsteps creeping up behind you and realizing you forgot your rape whistle. I wasn’t digging it.
She gave up for a short time, only mentioning Twitter here and there in casual conversation:
M: “So, Lena. Are you going to see Bob Dylan this summer?”
L: “I like, don’t know, you know? Like, damn.”
M: “Isn’t he touring?”
L: “Like, I mean. He’s a musician, so like, whatever.”
M: “I’m sure if you followed him on Twitter, you would know.”
L: “Yeah, for real. It’s like, whoa. Right?”
But when she took it upon herself to so brazenly inform me that she had “agent interest” in her novel, based on a contact she had developed through this “twitter” situation, I knew I could no longer be so impassive. I signed up.
Now, nearly two weeks later, I wrestle with my decision. I feel dirty. Like a “sell out,” overpricing screen tees by $30 at a merch table at a Nickelback/Hinder concert. I log into my Facebook account, hoping Zuckerberg won’t sense the seedy nature of my adulterous status updates. Facebook fulfills all of my social networking needs. I know this! And yet…yet…
I need to shape up or ship out. According to twitter, I only have 3 people in the world who care that I have dreams about dismembering school buses. But I know better! After all, I have enough sorry individuals reading this blog to make me feel like at least one non-relative has some interest in my existence. So I need to either:
A. Foster my inner Joaquin Phoenix, and commit myself 100% to something entirely pointless
I’d prefer to go with option A. So please, readers who share my links on Facebook but don’t ever reveal yourselves driving me insane with curiosities about your identities, follow me!
Cyber bully me!
I’ll be watching…
The girl currently known as lena_ziegler