Denial

You will be ashamed of me WordPress. I have pretty much forfeited any attempt at acting like an adult. But then again, this was still a better November than last year’s.

If I were to whinge or complain about the terrible things that happened to me, or scratched at the emotional scabs over mistakes I’ve made, or even told another drunk or sex story, I would be, once again, masking the real truth that I am an addict, as definitively as any substance abuser, and I am merely procrastinating when I will finally stand up and fucking deal with my Internet addiction.

Even right now, I’m going on the internet and complaining about having one, which is so counterproductive you…well, I’m sure you do have some idea. But the countless merging hours that tick by so quickly, until an entire month is completely gone and wasted…I’ve done that before, but I was just a kid. And after I turned 20 and did that, I was unmedicated and mentally ill. Today I saw my shrink and told her I’m more emotionally stable than I have ever been as far back as I can remember. But I’m not happy.

It’s very easy. I log off, shut off my devices, and walk outside. It’s so easy it must sicken you, whoever you are reading this, that I would ever dare to portray it otherwise. Internet addiction is a compulsion. It is psychological. It is not a chemical substance in your veins. There are zero excuses.

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Worst things to ever happen to my productivity

Wrote this on Tumblr

Middle school:

Chat rooms
The Final Fantasy series

High school:

FF.net
LiveJournal
AOL Instant Messenger
Still the Final Fantasy Series

College (called University across the pond):

All these plus Facebook

Working world & grad school:

Facebook
YouTube
Twitter
World of Warcraft

Now:

Tumblr
Tumblr
Tumblr
aaaand Tumblr

This is not good but I’m sure you can relate.

Adding this, because if you know this WordPress blog, you’ll roll your eyes and go…

Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?

A considerable part of Facebook’s appeal stems from its miraculous fusion of distance with intimacy, or the illusion of distance with the illusion of intimacy. Our online communities become engines of self-image, and self-image becomes the engine of community. The real danger with Facebook is not that it allows us to isolate ourselves, but that by mixing our appetite for isolation with our vanity, it threatens to alter the very nature of solitude. The new isolation is not of the kind that Americans once idealized, the lonesomeness of the proudly nonconformist, independent-minded, solitary stoic, or that of the astronaut who blasts into new worlds. Facebook’s isolation is a grind. What’s truly staggering about Facebook usage is not its volume—750 million photographs uploaded over a single weekend—but the constancy of the performance it demands. More than half its users—and one of every 13 people on Earth is a Facebook user—log on every day. Among 18-to-34-year-olds, nearly half check Facebook minutes after waking up, and 28 percent do so before getting out of bed. The relentlessness is what is so new, so potentially transformative. Facebook never takes a break. We never take a break. Human beings have always created elaborate acts of self-presentation. But not all the time, not every morning, before we even pour a cup of coffee. Yvette Vickers’s computer was on when she died.

Nostalgia for the good old days of disconnection would not just be pointless, it would be hypocritical and ungrateful. But the very magic of the new machines, the efficiency and elegance with which they serve us, obscures what isn’t being served: everything that matters. What Facebook has revealed about human nature—and this is not a minor revelation—is that a connection is not the same thing as a bond, and that instant and total connection is no salvation, no ticket to a happier, better world or a more liberated version of humanity. Solitude used to be good for self-reflection and self-reinvention. But now we are left thinking about who we are all the time, without ever really thinking about who we are. Facebook denies us a pleasure whose profundity we had underestimated: the chance to forget about ourselves for a while, the chance to disconnect.

http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/05/is-facebook-making-us-lonely/8930/

Passive Job Hunting

The real cause of unemployment? (Bear with me, I’m exaggerating for a minute.) PASSIVE JOB HUNTING.

Logged onto Linkedin, the most useless of social media websites (some would beg to differ, however), and was looking at my shitty resume and adding people I used to know.

It’s like Facebook, except instead of drunk photos and tagging people, you edit and re-edit your resume. Which is no fun. And just like Facebook, where you look at other people’s drunk (and sober) photos, you think, “My God, their life is so much more fun than mine!”, you end up on Linkedin going through resumes and going, “Goddammit, they’ve accomplished so much more than I have!”

Pseudonyms

So The Englishman still has the same old Facebook account under the same old pseudonym, as it turns out. And apparently it’s still active (he has it set so the public can still see Friend adds). You wouldn’t think so from the fact he still has a photo of himself making an unattractive facial expression when he was 21 years old as his profile picture.

I’m probably a creeper to point out the information and posts are all friend-locked and the only public photo albums are from 2007 and 2008 respectively.

The Englishman was never too keen on social media, and in fact, YouTube hadn’t existed yet when we knew each other, and “social media” and the “blogosphere” weren’t stupid words coined yet. There were no iPads and no Smartphones. Facebook was only something American college students had access to, and even so, it wasn’t something he’d ever be interested in. I can’t see him in my mind’s eye what he’d look like at 26 years old, but I could probably imagine him saying stupid buzzwords like “social media” with sarcasm.

I can’t add him again. That would be insane. Especially after those horribly psychotic Tweets I sent! He doesn’t know I sent some milder ones to his friend, or that I’m bipolar, or that I have issues that have nothing to do with chemical imbalances and all to do with learned behavior.

I remember talking about Pavlov’s dog with one of the Nathans once, and how I can only fall asleep if I have white noise or something. He said the same thing, and that it was probably a learned behavior. That’s something physical, however, but could it be…? My therapist was saying something like that. That the way I deal with rejection and heartbreak et cetera, my coping mechanisms, are learned, and for me, are unhealthy. I taught them to myself and they haven’t been working. It’s time for new ones.

I think I’d be sadder seeing him still up there on Facebook if his picture were newer, if I hadn’t seen it a million times before over the past five years. There’s other pictures but his hair is frankly terrible in them (I guess they’re from five years ago, too). The perfect length was a bit above shoulder-length (shut up; women can objectify men too). Bright red, can you believe it? I was infatuated…AM infatuated, with a ginger. Hmm…

“We are left thinking about who we are all the time, without ever really thinking about who we are.”

“A considerable part of Facebook’s appeal stems from its miraculous fusion of distance with intimacy, or the illusion of distance with the illusion of intimacy. Our online communities become engines of self-image, and self-image becomes the engine of community. The real danger with Facebook is not that it allows us to isolate ourselves, but that by mixing our appetite for isolation with our vanity, it threatens to alter the very nature of solitude. The new isolation is not of the kind that Americans once idealized, the lonesomeness of the proudly nonconformist, independent-minded, solitary stoic, or that of the astronaut who blasts into new worlds. Facebook’s isolation is a grind. What’s truly staggering about Facebook usage is not its volume—750 million photographs uploaded over a single weekend—but the constancy of the performance it demands. More than half its users—and one of every 13 people on Earth is a Facebook user—log on every day. Among 18-to-34-year-olds, nearly half check Facebook minutes after waking up, and 28 percent do so before getting out of bed. The relentlessness is what is so new, so potentially transformative. Facebook never takes a break. We never take a break. Human beings have always created elaborate acts of self-presentation. But not all the time, not every morning, before we even pour a cup of coffee. Yvette Vickers’s computer was on when she died.

Nostalgia for the good old days of disconnection would not just be pointless, it would be hypocritical and ungrateful. But the very magic of the new machines, the efficiency and elegance with which they serve us, obscures what isn’t being served: everything that matters. What Facebook has revealed about human nature—and this is not a minor revelation—is that a connection is not the same thing as a bond, and that instant and total connection is no salvation, no ticket to a happier, better world or a more liberated version of humanity. Solitude used to be good for self-reflection and self-reinvention. But now we are left thinking about who we are all the time, without ever really thinking about who we are. Facebook denies us a pleasure whose profundity we had underestimated: the chance to forget about ourselves for a while, the chance to disconnect.”

http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/05/is-facebook-making-us-lonely/8930/