My name is Beth, and I’ve been addicted to Facebook for seven weeks.
After repeatedly aborting my registration because I couldn’t agree to the privacy terms, I finally jumped in back around New Year’s. I thought it would be a useful communication tool for work (to which I haven’t yet applied it) and I needed to check it out because my oldest kid wants on (his dad still says no).
For a few days I hated it. Do I really care that someone is leaving for work? (If I did, wouldn’t I be following their Tweets?) Then I started coming across people I hadn’t seen in years. Lunch dates ensued. I started learning about people I didn’t really know in high school — but clearly should have. Next thing you know, I’m friends with my fabulous cousins across the southeast. They can pick their friends, but they can’t “ignore” their relatives.
Now I’m checking my 5 to 10 games of Lexulous (copyright-safe Scrabble) at least twice a day. And voyeristically peeking in on the Live Feed every time.
I see pictures of people’s kids. I know a little about where they live and what they do for a living. I might even know when they’re leaving for work. Last night I went to funeral visitation for a friend’s dad. Lots of old friends there, and the ones who are on Facebook I felt like I had seen just yesterday.
It’s true we should probably be expressing ourselves more articulately than in single third-person sentences. Or in ways other than inane happy-blogs, for that matter. But Facebook does, actually, connect me with friends old and new, near and far, in a way I would not otherwise be able to manage. And we all know how I like to stay in touch.