Acerbic Acedia

I can’t. I just can’t join Facebook. I can’t care about all the stupid minutiae of your everyday life. I can’t dedicate a large fraction of my day to reading things I don’t even want to know. I can’t become invested in the lives of people I hated in high school.

My unwillingness to join that wretched social media time suck has caused me to miss out on a few things, but it’s totally worth it.

  • I don’t want to see pictures of your uterus or your dinner or your family reunion.
  • I don’t want to learn that you’ve “liked” a particular brand of insect repellent or edible underwear or paper towel.
  • I don’t want to know that you belong to groups called Creative Kale Recipes, Horny4Mullets, and Intravenous Coffee Drips.
  • I couldn’t be paid enough to care about mommy politics, your fucking Netflix queue, or your new dishwasher.

They should invent a Facebook for apathetic people with short attention spans who are really only there for news and/or a laugh. It should have a 140-character limit for posts…


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