After I quit the social networking site, I woke up with a pep in my step, as if I'd just retired after 70 years of service at a meat-packing plant, with a huge marijuana, cat, and vibrator pension in the Bahamas
World tragedy took on a lackluster appeal. I found I did not give a rat's ass about female genital mutilation or baby seal slaughter if I could not share my wise impressions with 500 other users. Which made me think I'd been a faker all along. And what about all those perfect status updates that no longer have a home? Where do they go to die? In this silky hand-sewn notebook? Oh, please. I can't be bothered with that.
But in truth, the most annoying thing about leaving Facebook hasn't been the absence of hilarious "What Famous Lazy Slag Am I" quiz results or even the social alienation. It's the realization that everyone I know, or sort of know, is a sheep. Facebook is for them, as is it for one in every 12 human beings, the umbilical cord of all communication, and to sever it is to die. No one has the balls to take the risk. Yes, it's cold out here all alone. But don't mind me — I still have four more days of pre-deletion limbo. I can still come back, and I know everything will be exactly as I left it, smartly formatted in blue.