Day 15 of 40, fasting from Facebook, for fuck’s fake. (That last f might be an old-English S.)
In which our hero surfs the receding Facebook tide, naked and alone.
Facebook Demoted
When I unlock my iPad it offers me Siri-suggested apps, I presume based on previous usage patterns. Today Facebook slid to the number two spot behind Kindle! This is progress. Soon, the FB icon won’t show up, and the accidental launches will end. (Accidental icon clicking is probably how that nuclear missile warning in Hawaii happened this week.)
Tsunami Drawback, Phuket, Christmas 2004. “Run! Run! Facebook is coming!!”
Facebook is receding, like the tide. Will it be back again in six hours, ebbing and flowing in a predictable pattern of highs and lows? Or is this like the waters being sucked out of a bay before a tsunami hits? I found out they call that the “drawback” . Will I, upon returning to my page, drown? How many drawbacks are there in Facebook?
Writing Naked
It’s a struggle to be fully open and vulnerable in writing, yet essential. A reader can sense when they aren’t getting emotional authenticity — when I’m not writing “naked.” Connection and impact suffers.
In my private writings I sometimes achieve this level. Today I wrote a stream of consciousness exercise for my online class, and it forced a new consideration on me: It’s one thing to write “nakedly” about myself, and decide whether or not I wish to reveal the truth. What happens when my wife is in the story? She didn’t sign on to be publicly naked.
I’m torn. The piece is 99.4% about me and my foibles. But one line contains a shared foible. I guess this is where I need to honor the commitment to my wife — above and beyond the commitment to honest, open writing. This is where I honor “consent.” Our secrets are our secrets.
I could push her to accept my desire to reveal the secret for the sake of “art,” rationalizing it’s OK because “I don’t think it’s that bad…” But then I remember two things:
1. The times, long ago, I tried to push her to like hot food like I do. This is an old story, but valid here. Expecting her to like what I like — expecting her experience had to be exactly like mine — was a ridiculous expectation. “No, honey, it’s an acquired thing… you need to keep eating hot stuff, suffering miserably, and eventually you’ll like it!”
The same would hold here: “No, honey… you just have to get used to facing undesirable public exposure. Eventually you’ll love it, and it will make you stronger!”
Forcing her against her will would be abuse. Acting to serve MY interests, neglecting hers, would not be “love.”
It would be like slipping ham into a Kosher Jewish vegetarian’s cheese sandwich just to prove meat is OK, pork isn’t bad, and meat/dairy mixed together is a frickin’ delicious combo.
2. I have a friend who has on occasion tried to do the same thing to me — revealing things, or attempting to force me to speak things I’ve said to him privately, to a wider public audience with whom I do not wish to share.
I know how that makes me feel, so I’ll respect my wife’s privacy, her right to consent.
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At least until she’s dead. (Mwoo-ha-ha-ha-haaa-ha-haa-ha!!) <– Evil laugh.
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