Even before Facebook was a menace to global politics, it was a source of personal terror: the terror of waking up to photos broadcast from the boozy night you thought was self-contained. Or the wasted time anxiously wondering if the invitation to play Trivia Crack from an ex is actually a message.
Hours are lost poring over the ins and outs of lives you barely recall meeting. That’s the thing about having an account for over a decade, as I have: people who’d usually be relegated to the crevices of memory are kept in full view, as you are to them. Supposedly, that’s keeping in touch, but in reality it’s keeping score.
And then, of course, there’s the family. You can’t deny your mum’s friend request, or her right to share your holiday photos to her profile, while mistagging all your relatives – so instead of flagging your pic to Uncle Abbas, she’s let everyone in the ABBA fan page know you ate a pizza in Italy.
(Side story: a few years ago, a friend told her mum that “FML” – internet slang for “F*** my life”, a sign of exasperation – stood for “From Mum with Love”. That really livened up her Facebook statuses. “Nan came over for dinner, FML.”)
Ergh… that little red notification box, the little red box of horror. It has controlled me for too long, especially with its most vicious feature: event invitations. “You have been invited,” reads Facebook, in its distinctly chipper Californian voice, “to the engagement party of your ex. Good job!” Or it’s an acquaintance’s uninspiring birthday bash involving a long journey, when the sofa is calling. My finger hovers over the “not attending” button when, lo and behold, I see it, the invite list, full of familiar faces.
“Perhaps this will be the party to end all parties,” I think. “I can’t miss out… Maybe this party will fortify the friendship of my friends between each other, and I will be left in the cold. I can’t miss out.”
But no more. If being an adult is about not giving a damn about what people think, then sign me up. No more attending events on the off-chance they might be OK. No more fretting about missing things. No more RSVPing “maybe” when you really mean no, lest you stop getting invited to things you don’t actually want to go to.
It’s time to end the cycle. Just say no! Say no to drugs, say no to Bill and Kelly’s BBQ, and say yes to Saturday nights in.
