WAYT: I’m onto your mind games, social media!

I’ve been gone from this site for so long, it’s almost laughable that I’m writing now.  As usual, the naysayer Devil on my shoulder is cackling about it because he thinks no one has missed me.  It’s hard not to believe that he’s right, but I feel fairly certain that there are enough people who used to read this blog that surely they’ll be glad I’m back. 

And that is my problem these days.  Between Facebook, Twitter and the hits and comments on my blog pages, I seem to think that everyone is my friend.  Maybe I spend too much time conversing with the Devil on my shoulder exclusively, or maybe people are really my friends. 

I’ll never know, because Facebook, Twitter and comments are so faceless and without value, that in my heart of hearts, I know it’s all superficial.  It’s not real friendship.  (But is it????)

Case in point: I feel like I am best friends forever with Jack Morrissey and Sylvain Reynard.  Jack Morrissey is Bill Condon’s main squeeze.  Yes, you read that right – Bill Condon, as in, major Hollywood film director.  Sylvain Reynard is the millionaire author of these books that I totally love (read about it here and here).  I’ve exchanged tweets and/or Facebook messages and comments with these two totally awesome, mega-rich and greatly beloved people and if anyone asked me, I’d tell everyone all about those tiny few words we’ve shared. 

Because social media wants me to think they’re my best friends.  Social media wants me to believe that these interactions make me someone special to these people who are so much larger in life than little old me. 

But really, are SR and Jack telling their friends, “Oh my gosh, this chick Kayla from Illinois tweeted me and I totally wrote her back and now we’re best friends because I love her Facebook profile picture!”?  The answer is no.  I need to get some perspective.  (But really, if you’re my Facebook friend, I don’t know how you can’t LOVE my profile picture.)

Except the sad thing is that I’m totally addicted to social media for that exact reason: I think they’re my friends and I want to keep that connection alive. 

Today, I curse myself and whatever I must be thinking, setting myself up for a sad, empty life with no tweets and no notification on my Facebook homepage from these celebrities and important people.  I also curse myself for hoping that they’ll read this and remember that one time we were BFF because Facebook and Twitter brought us together for one magical moment, and I want us to hold hands and sit around the warm campfire of our shared interests once more. 

“It’s all so laughable,” the Devil reminds me, so that I never forget.  Curse him to Hell!