Not so social media

Hello online world.  Did you miss me?  Did you miss me at all?  No, thought not.  And it’s okay.  It doesn’t remotely matter. 

I’ve been in one of my bad places…possibly the worst one for a very long time.  One of those declines – oh, okay, let’s not mince words – it was freefall skydiving without checking you’ve got a parachute first.  Which is a really fecking stupid thing to do.  At first I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t get my fingers to type. Couldn’t do anything much really.  And as I sat at my desk, doing nothing, I watched social media drift by for a day or so.  And I wondered…what’s it all about?  What is it all about?

Yeah, I could have tweeted.  Yeah, I could have put out a ‘poor little me’ yelp on Facebook.  I could have written a ‘hug me’ blog.  But, you know, that’s not my style.  Anyhow at first, I really didn’t have the capacity.  And then, as the days went by, I began to wonder. 

Does anyone even notice if you’re not there? 

Bald answer?  No. 

I had to laugh really.  I was the online equivalent of the old lady in the council flat, lying on the floor being eaten by her cats.

I tell you, it’s a good lesson for the ego.  Bottom line, if you’re not out there shouting or wailing or emoting or waving your arms in the air, nobody notices.  And, let’s be honest, why should anyone?  We’ve all got so many ‘friends’, so many followers and followees, how on earth can we keep tabs?  Would I notice if one of my online *friends* wasn’t around for a week or so?  Probably not.  I’d assume they were busy or on holiday or just going ‘dark’ to get work done.  One shouldn’t take these things personally.  Yet one does. Stupidly. And I take first prize in stupid, I really do.

Social media does have strengths. It's a virtual water cooler. It’s great for wasting time, for procrastination – superlative in fact.  It’s incredibly useful for driving traffic to your business (if you use it right).  

Twitter can be fun. Sometimes it’s downright funny.  And I still hold that, if you look or if you get lucky, here are some gems of people to be found.  There is inspiration; there is information; there is interconnection.  And there are messages – there are always messages.

lonelypierot @ deviantart

But, but, but…is it any good if you’re low?  Now I am just not convinced by that.  Because when you’re way down low, when you’re really in the pit or hanging on the meat-hook or the black dog is slowly and methodically chewing out your throat, you don’t have the energy to make contact.  You watch people ‘being normal’, laughing, joshing, discussing minutiae or whatever and you simply can’t join in.  Because none of it makes sense.  It’s like they’re talking a totally different language. 

Anyhow, that’s it really…  Just an observation.  What do you think?   Maybe it’s just me.  After all, I just don’t talk about my “stuff”, not to anyone (though sometimes, in the very dead of night, I whisper in the SP’s velvety ear).  I know talking is supposed to help but hey…I’m not big on talking.  I did do a whole bunch of therapy many years ago but, when I think back, it was hilarious really - we would settle down in our chairs with the box of tissues between us and my therapist would tell me about her problems and then we’d spend the next hour brainstorming how to fix them.  Then I’d get up, hug her, tell her it would all be okay and then I’d say ‘thank you’ and pay her thirty quid or whatever. 

What a prize plonker, eh? 

Internet friends and lovers



Jeez, he looks grumpy!

Adrian is perplexed.  While he’s been in Moscow, I’ve been meeting my Internet pals.  He just doesn’t *get* my love of internet ‘relationships’.  Yes, he blogs, he tweets, he FBs – but only because he feels he ‘ought to’ for work.  He frowns at tweet-ups, he doesn’t remotely understand why I keep meeting people I haven’t, er, met.

‘It’s like online dating,’ he said, sitting on the end of the bed.  ‘Except without the sex bit.’ Shaking his head.  ‘I don’t get that either.’

‘Aha,’ said I, sitting up and adjusting the SP.  ‘Now, see, if I were single, I’d do that like a shot.’

‘God no.’ He shuddered. ‘It’s not natural.’

‘Oh come on.  It’s practical.’ I put down my coffee cup so I could wave my arms around. ‘Look. Imagine I don’t exist.  Nothing nasty – I haven’t died or anything.  I’m just Not Here. In fact, let’s take James out of the equation too and make it simple.  You live here. Alone. Who you gonna date?’

‘I’d move,’ he said briskly. ‘I’d go to…hmm….Bristol. I’d go to pubs and clubs…’

I raised an eyebrow.  ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

He shrugged.  ‘Okay, I’d go to pubs and museums. I’d stalk women in military museums.’  Dear God.

‘Right.  But say you couldn’t move.  Say you worked here?’  I named names. He looked alarmed.

‘See? It’s not easy once you’re out of your twenties.’ I keep saying this to my mate who just wants a nice man with a labrador.  She doesn’t buy it, the Internet dating thing – but then she doesn’t do Twitter or FB or anything other than the odd brusque email.  Maybe the world is divided into those who click and those who don't... ;)

‘And it’s the same with friends,’ I continued.  ‘I know lovely people here but I can’t always talk about the stuff I need to – about writing, about books, about mad spiritual/mystical stuff.  They’d think I’d gone bonkers.’  His turn to raise an eyebrow.

‘Hence online friends.’

‘Okay, I get that,’ he said.  ‘But then you go and meet them.’
‘Not all of them,’ I pointed out.  ‘But yeah, why not?’

See, I’m fascinated by people online and particularly by how online personae can be so different from RL.  I was talking about this with Jake and the lovely M (his wife) yesterday – how some people are exactly the same on and offline while others are, frankly, unrecognisable. 

‘Anyhow,’ said Adrian.  ‘If you were here alone, who would you shag?’ 

Shag?  Don’t you love the way women say 'date' and men say 'shag'?  He named names.  My eyes widened. 
‘Oh, I don’t know…’ I said with an evil smirk.

He lobbed his croissant at me. The SP neatly intercepted.  I grinned and picked up my coffee cup.

But, seriously…if you wanted to meet a partner, would you consider Internet dating?  Anyone tried it and a) loved it b) loathed it?

How many of your online friends have you met in real life? Were they how you imagined?   

And, before I go.  The ila competition.  I decided, in the end, that I couldn’t just give all that gorgeousness to one person. So I talked to ila and we split the prize.  The SP was the most fragrant creature I could find so he plonked his paw on these guys:  Zenandtheartoftightropewalking, Tiger Princess, Posie and Preseli Mags

Chicken eating spiders and my best friend

My bestest oldest friend in the world is staying and it’s heaven. I met Jane at school but we became best friends in the sixth form, bonded by Latin A level and the Polemic and Social Society (a thinly veiled excuse for hanging out down the pub with boys).

I love her to the bottom of my black heart and she is James’ adored godmother. Well, what 12-year old boy wouldn’t love a bad-mouthed barrister who takes him to international rugby matches and buys him kickass rock music?

With Jane I can be totally myself; no need to play ‘nice’, no attempt to impress. When Jane’s around I feel eighteen again; doing the tarot, dancing wildly, talking long into the night about absolutely everything: silly stuff and serious stuff; smart stuff and spiritual stuff.

We’ve had some of  the best holidays together – to Russia; Greece, India, Egypt (twice). I nearly got her sold off to a Saudi prince in Cairo; she got me out of jail in Luxor.

I owe her so much, in every which way. And I worry about her so much too. I hate that her health isn’t great. I hate that she has to work her socks off and never seems to get a break. I hate that I can’t wave a magic wand and give her what she really needs and craves. I hate that she’s low.

‘You need a spark, a frisson,’ I said.
She nodded. ‘There’s just no joy in anything really. It’s all just so boring and predictable.’
I recognise that feeling. That was me.
‘Don’t you dare give up,’ I said.
She caught my eye. ‘I’m getting old.’
‘Oh for pity’s sake. It’s just beginning. It’s a new chapter.’
She looked doubtful.
‘Oh come on. Let’s believe in miracles.’

So we played the Silly Lottery Game. You know the one – I bet you play it too. It’s the one where we sort out all our friends and family and do our bit for world peace and the Staffordshire Bull Terrier Rescue Society and still have enough left over for a few treats.

‘We could rent a huge villa each summer where friends could just drop in and out,’ said Jane. ‘In Tuscany.’
‘Or northern California.’
‘US road trip!’
‘Dude ranching!’
‘Then New York for the museums and art galleries and music.’
‘Oooh yes, I never did get to The Cloisters to see the Lady and the Unicorn tapestries. People were firing guns so I turned back.’
‘Greece again?’
‘Definitely. And Egypt. We could take James and go down the Nile on a felucca.’
‘Hmm, or a nice cruise ship. What about going to that place we never got to...’
‘Abu Simbel.’
‘That’s the one.’
‘Detour into the desert...’
‘Sinai?’

‘Any desert. I’m not fussy. I love deserts.’
‘Camels?’
‘Hmm, horses.’
‘I might need a Landrover.’
‘Nah, you’ll be fine.’
‘Not fat?’
‘Not fat. We’d have spent a month at Viva Mayr first getting fit.’
'Eating spelt rolls?’
‘Absolutely. And doing yoga and swimming in the lake. Where else?’
‘Honk Kong. Japan.’
‘Back to India. A lot more India.'
'No! Not more dodgy ayurvedic massage?'
'Loads more dodgy ayurvedic massage! But I’ve gone off the idea of Peru.’
‘Why?’
‘Spiders mainly. Chicken eating spiders and the ones that are so aggressive they run after you to bite you. I think they run faster than I can. It’s a deal breaker.’
‘Fair enough.’

She drank another bottle of wine and I had another glass of water. Then we were off again.

Today she goes back to London and I’ll miss her horribly.  I’m also going to make damn sure I buy a lottery ticket.