Wednesday, July 10, 2019

Daylilies are flowering, sweet corn is in stores (but not yet on the local farm stands) and homeless kittens abound. It's July in central New York State. It's one of the busiest times of year, but also, because you work or play yourself to utter exhaustion, it's also a time when I find myself folding wearily into a chair at the end of the day. Hopefully the dishes are washed, cat boxes are scooped, and coffee is set up to perk itself the next morning on "automatic." That's a good day. And in that weary moment comes a time to think, because it's too hot to watch a movie or read a book. Hopefully a breeze has finally stirred up on the front porch while the bedroom cools off.

Summers past I might have scrolled through Facebook. But Facebook has turned into an old uncle or auntie, telling the same stories over and over to those people who are willing to listen to the same old stories. Facebook is turning me in an old auntie as well...only being spurred to post to say the same things again and again, the doom and gloom and anger, just sharing some meme, video, or friend's post that seems particularly eloquent. And the only people who see them are people who think the same things I do. We are all chattering away in a room with a closed door, sitting in our comfortable filter bubble, yelling back and forth at people who actually agree with us, all the while thinking we have the ear of the world.

Facebook makes me lonely, even though the usual faithful 30-or-so people see most things I post, and probably a 100 have me pop up in their social media lives weekly. Blogging make me less lonely, even though only a handful of people read my posts.

Perhaps its because a blog post sits in a permanent place. A blog is like a dog-eared book you can read over and over, with favorite parts you've forgotten about that you can surprise yourself with by clicking randomly on an archive date, just like grabbing a book and starting in the middle. Blog posts don't get shoved down fighting for breath under the escalating, accumulating vitriol of posts and memes throughout the day, forgotten until they reappear with a shout on Facebook Memories exactly a year later. "You have memories on Facebook!" Oh, wow, haha! I'd forgotten about that! Then "click!" You usher it away again and return to the latest infographic at the top of your feed.

I've Facebooked my life away. My little dog Molly is now ten years old, and all my plans of hikes in State Forests have come to naught. She sits on the porch and watches the world go by.

Granted, it hasn't all been Facebook. It has been work, and work travel. But things are about to have an interesting change.

Changes that are better fit for a blog, than Facebook.