I was a late adopter of Facebook, and even when I did join, I maintained a low profile, thinking it was all just so very stupid. Over time, I started sharing more thoughts, and at times I over-posted, meaning I was bragging about something I was doing that I felt was exciting, I suppose with the ultimate goal of either having people like or envy me. I became the thing I loathed about other people, although to my credit, I never once wrote about getting my "hairs did" or having "pretty toes" or wanting to eat "all the ice creams."
I briefly became political in February 2011 when the Republicans went particularly Jihad on women, but that futile exercise quickly ran its course, as did even so much as commenting on other people's political postings.
I avoided posting sentiments with the express intent of baiting people into telling me I was wanted, loved, or esteemed, or to illicit fear that something might be wrong with me. I eschewed re-posting annoying memes about dieting, chocolate, "adult beverages," or anything that could be seen as instructional for men as to what women want. I don't think I ever once posted pictures of my feet while I was on vacation, or pictures I took of my own head in a bar or club.
I never once wrote something bombastic or inane and summed it up by hyperlinking a bunch of words crammed together with no spaces between and preceded by a pound sign. I understand this is a device of another unnecessary communication tool called Twitter, and for the life of me, I can't find the reason for posting the same sentiment across both platforms.
I never once in my entire life expressed a desire for "a much needed adult beverage," bacon, or a "sammich" via social media.
I have posted my share of photos from various beautiful locations around the world and a great number of sunsets. I have posted the occasional picture of something I baked or a beautiful glass of wine or beer. I might have even posted a photograph of a glass of wine through which you could see a ship in the harbor outside of the restaurant on Puget Sound. I might have even on occasion gone into too much detail to describe where exactly on the planet I was. (See previous sentence for example.) I like doing this. I'm a walking travelogue.
I don't believe I ever "checked-in" somewhere that wasn't my final destination, such as an airport (to make people ask me where I'm going) or a hospital ER (to make people ask me if I'm okay???!!!!!!), or a bar, to make people wish they were cool like me and went to bars that are actually completely open for absolutely anyone to patronize.
I did "check-in" to the county morgue once, because...see explanation two paragraphs ago.
I did not post nearly enough photos of Primo, who was always cute all of the time.
For the most part, I tried to create thoughtful, poetic, or at least lighthearted postings of optimism. I was often surprised by the compliments in real life I would receive about my online writing and musings. I like compliments, especially the kind I did not fish for!
Over the five years that I've had an account, I have deactivated my account a number of times for a number of months for a number of reasons, and always felt better at doing so, not missing the "connection" it supposedly offered me. I had been off for many months and returned last spring to post some photos of Primo on his sixteenth birthday, and was touched to have people I care about actually welcome me back and tell me that they missed my presence and more importantly pictures of Primo.
As per usual, however, in addition to some of the laughs I shared with friends, I also got sucked into the vortex of other people's drama and in weaker moments, revisited old drama by dwelling on certain people who are not actually in my life anymore or even in the first place.
So, in early December while feeling particularly low, I deactivated, and began to feel a little lighter. I was surprised how many times I picked up my phone out of pure muscle memory to open my Facebook "news" feed only to remember that I no longer had access. Soon my mind was freed of the little things that I let bother me. Out of sight, out of mind.
It's been almost seven weeks, and I am amazed at how uncluttered my mind is now. Instead of aimlessly scrolling while watching TV at night, I have picked up pencil and paper and started drawing again. I also started making a quilt for my niece, which is a good activity for TV-watching.
I'm reading more magazines, cookbooks, memoirs, and novels. I'm even allowing myself to read fluff women's magazines, such as More or Oprah, and more importantly, to not feel as if I should be reading something more important. Yes, I still make fun of some of the ideals that are passed off to women, such as the need to have face lifts on our hands and necks (yes, people are having this done), or the fashion articles, which always name drop the exorbitant prices of various ensemble items (bracelet $108, Charcoal Grey Pant $156, Butter Cream Cashmere Sweater $204), but the point is, it's fun. Here's one that appeals to a woman who still enjoys some traditional measure of being woman without all the Botox injections: Real Simple. Another surprising winner is Midwest Living.
I have also resolved to supplement this fun reading with academic journalism, such as The Atlantic,
I don't know if I'll go back to Facebook. I imagine at some point I will feel out of the loop, but maybe I like it out here (on the perimeter,
there are no stars,
out here we is stoned.
Immaculate.).
I also had not planned on giving up alcohol, but I did just that after a really lovely Christmas cocktail party with Ralf & Jim. As per usual, they brought out their favorite bottles from their impressive wine cellar, and we had that nice blend of conversation about trivial things, such as decorating, to interesting topics, such as travel, to thought-provoking topics, such as dealing with an aging parent. As the night wore on, I began to see two of Ralfs sitting across from me, and I silently swore to myself. When would I ever learn that I cannot match my friends glass for glass without feeling it? (Think back to the day of the Chicken Limo, for example.) Furthermore, I had not drank much the previous two months or so, and when I did, I drank the cheap stuff, which has a lot less alcohol.
The next day, my stomach was quite cross with me, and even though I didn't get sick, the thought of drinking anything made me sick. The next day we had another party to attend of another connoisseur of fine wine, and I passed. This was a big thing as I have never known myself to decline expensive wine that I myself did not have to purchase with my own money.
New Year's arrived, a night we traditionally drink expensive wine from one of our trips to CA (as opposed to the $3.99/bottle stuff we drink under normal situations), and I purchased Pom Wonderful pomegranate juice for my toasting glass. It looks like wine and has a little bite like wine does and looks beautiful in my glass, and looking beautiful in a glass is important.
It's been over four weeks now, and I've barely missed it. I've noticed that the triggers that used to prompt me to savor a glass of wine have less effect on me now. For the record, my triggers are when I'm watching a movie or TV show in which people are gathered in celebration and clinking beautiful globe like glasses on a beautifully dressed candle-lit dinner table. I think those visions must really speak to me--fellowship and exquisite taste in food, dinnerware, and wine! (Things I rarely indulge in for my own home. Hmmm...should I be paying attention to that?)
In the absence of alcohol I'm saving calories, money, and my complexion, which for some reason now sports zits, which I never had in puberty. (I must be in the puberty of my middle age.) I also feel slightly less bloated. (If you really want to lose the bloat, then lose the milk. I quit drinking it when I was in Costa Rica years ago because the milk always had gnats in it, and I noticed almost immediately that my tummy was flatter and that I was nearly phlegm-free. Milk. It does not do a body good! More on that another time.)
I don't know how long I'll stay a teetotaler, but I hope it is for a long time. My friend Jodee just invited a group of us to rent the Indy Brew Bus. It's a short bus that's painted green, and instead of taking you to schools, it takes you to several of the scores of breweries that have unnecessarily popped up in Indy over the past three years. (Unnecessary because they don't seem to be offering anything special.) I love beer, kind of like how I love wine. It is summer in a bottle. But, get this, I declined the offer, asking instead to meet up with the gang after their beer adventure.
On the occasions where we've socialized among people who are drinking, I have noticed just how repetitive drunk people can be. In an upshot, the thing they were unanimously repetitive about was their love for me, so how can I not want to hang out with my drunk friends more often? And I've noticed something else that I suspected all along, or rather I am reminded of something I discovered about nine years ago: Drinking gives me wings.
I started drinking recreationally pretty late in life, my late thirties, when I became involved with theater. (No one drinks like thespians. Not frat boys, not sailors, marines, or airmen, not Irish people, not jocks.) I was invited to a lot of parties with a lot of young people, who, for some reason, I was convinced were much cooler than I was. (I was wrong. They might have worn more stylish blue jeans, but none of them had lived or even traveled extensively to anywhere remotely interesting and none of them grew up on a funny farm, like I did, so THERE!) I felt very stupid when I was around them, and taking advice of Plato or someone Plato-like, I decided that "only a fool speaks when he has nothing to say."
However, I noticed that if I had a couple of beers in me, my true personality came out, as did some confidence to actually let it show. Wings! Alcohol became the great equalizer, and soon I was able to have conversations with anyone, even dumb people and also really attractive people, and just like in the days of my youth, I could easily make people laugh.
Wings!
I flew high!
And sometimes crashed.
Drinking became a BIG part of my life and social fabric for about five years. In 2011, I noticed that I was having memory lapses while drinking, even when I didn't get drunk. I can count more than a few times when I had no business driving. To my credit, other than one time when I was 17, I never ugly cried while intoxicated. In my adolescence of my adult years (30s), however, I might have been guilty of being too energetic and too silly and too manic while drinking, which may or may not have annoyed people who did not feel like having a sit-up contest at 2 a.m. I might have, once, at a pool party of close friends, decided that women should not have to cover up because men don't have to cover up, and thrown off my bikini top. This might have annoyed Larry.
(The first time I ever drank too much as a full fledged adult, I literally projectile vomited the previous night's pumpkin (yes, pumpkin, so I clearly deserved my comeuppance) the next day. I felt sick, so I went outside, still in my robe, drank some water, and immediately spewed it out like the Fontana della Barcaccia.
Like Facebook, I have on occasion, given up alcohol for weeks at a time, just to make sure I could. I saw this Australian movie once starring a young Heath Ledger who was a heroin addict, and he got his sweet girlfriend addicted to heroin. There was a clever line: "When you can give it up, you don't want to. When you want to give it up, you can't." That line was a touchstone for me, so I applied it to drinking.
What's different this time, is that it's not taking much effort, even in the face of triggers. I'm not taking much credit for not drinking when I don't feel like it anyway, but I'm taking advantage of a wonderful situation.
One thing that has come to light is that I still suffer a considerable amount social anxiety. I have a lower threshold for social settings in which the sole purpose is to socialize with many people, rather than say a small dinner party or an art event, where you are a spectator only. I have been to a few parties with some of my favorite people in life, and while I enjoyed the outings at first, I found myself wrought with anxiety and a tension headache before the evening was done.
Without the wings that alcohol provides, I am struck with the notion that I have not made progress with my social anxiety. This is unacceptable to me. For the time being, I am going to listen to what I need--a quiet night at home or going out--but when I go out, I am going to have build my confidence to be able to relax and enjoy the people who seem to enjoy my company just fine whether I'm drinking or not.
I don't know if it's completely necessary to give up drinking altogether, but I want to at least consider a future where I drink not regularly, not socially, not occasionally, but scarcely. (Did you know that "seldomly" is not a word? I just learned that because Blogger underlined it.)
I don't want to think of my wings as being clipped, but I also don't want to think of my wings only working when lubricated with alcohol. I need to find them with an uncluttered mind.
Cheers, my friends!
***************************************************************************
Here's another thing that has uncluttered me lately.
Some bitch stole my phone out of the bathroom at work last Friday. This is a shitty thing to do. Someone is taking a leak for 60 seconds, so you swipe their phone? I noticed it immediately and had my phone deactivated and changed all my passwords. I talked with Security and let them know I was expecting someone to turn a phone into Lost & Found, because surely someone would not STEAL someone's phone at work.
The entire day went by. Someone did not "find" it. Someone stole it. When you "find" something, it's been there a while. It isn't still warm from when the person purposely set it there while taking a leak. When you "find" something, you turn it in to Lost and "Found" immediately.
I had no choice but to purchase a new phone. Yeah, great, cuz that extra $150 in my pocket was becoming a problem, and I was afraid I'd never find something to spend it on.
Monday morning, I was informed that a janitor had found a phone in the trash Friday night and turned it in to security. Whoever the bitch was who stole my phone while I was taking a leak realized the phone was impenetrable and threw it out. What a bitch.
But, I did get to return the new phone for a full refund.
The problem was that the phone company could not quite grasp every detail of activating the old phone and old SIM card. It took them days. I went days without a phone for days, and I didn't worry very much. I was a bit annoyed, but I was not panicked, and I think dropping off Facebook and losing that gnawing feeling of "What Am I Missing?" helped me through the ringtone-free nights.
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