hirty-eight messages wait for me on Facebook. This I know from my recent periscope peek.
And my daughter Mulan has a repeating message that keeps deviling my email inbox, something requiring a response.
Can’t see it. Can’t look.
It’s a week into Lent and I’m still observing my no-Facebook pledge (with caveats – I use facey to put up notices regarding my site, such as the one the likely brought you here. I can post, but no reading, no clickthroughs, and certainly no scrolling).
So, what’s it like?
Refreshing in ways. Empty in others.
When President Punchline comes up with something wacky, like wiretaps or MuslemLock 3.0, I don’t have an outlet. I can’t immediately dive into facey and post. And since I can’t do it at any of my clubs (not and retain the political cease-fire we maintain) it becomes mine and mine alone.
And when something happens, like me hitting a chunk of concrete and blowing out the sidewall of my rear bike tire last night (lemons into lemonade – sat outside a pub while the wife drove around lost sipping a Guinness) I can only relate it as a story (and not even my co-rider who continued on without me seems curious about how I fared).
In the evening, before bed, there was always that last clickthrough of the day, the quick facey scan for the last trumpet of insanity before the day closed. And now that’s quiet, too.
Yes, things are quieter. And saner. The world is less intrusive. A bit lonelier, yes. It’s odd, this feeling of “monkishness” while the world spins on. Nice yet detached.
But I suspect this is only my first week in solitary. What will follow – a cave back into social media? Delusions? Zen detachment? It’s a curious experiment.
p.s. if you want to respond to this with support or whatever, you can use my troublesome blog-response tool OR contact me via this site. And my various email accounts are still active. Or we can sit outside a pub and drink Guinness together…