A Forced Death March Down Memory Lane

So I’ve joined Facebook.

And now everybody wants to be my friend.

Or so it seems, anyway. I’m sure I qualify as the rankest parvenu when it come to such things. There are people I know who have links to enough people to qualify for virtual statehood. I, on the other hand, am barely into the double digits.

But, the way the requests are coming in...

I see the virtue, of course, in building a cyberspatial clan of like-minded people, especially if I don’t have to have them all over to the house at once. Obviously this is great for networking. On the other hand, it provides yet another reason for not going outside -- ever again. And it means I have to make some hard choices, because, being a PWP (Person With Parkinson’s, not Pathetic Writer Personified), there’s only so much typing I can do during the day until my fingers tie up into square knots. I would, of course, much rather spend my time swapping letters and IM-ing all day.

Unfortunately, that way lies life in a shopping cart.

It won’t take long for the attraction of the new to fade, if past obsessions are any criteria. And I am enjoying running into people I haven’t heard from in ages. (And will probably never hear from again; still, ships passing in the night are better than hitting an iceberg. Or something ...)