Just write. Fingers across the keyboard. Thoughts transitioning the pipeline to appear like magic on the screen. That’s the easy part (well, you know, mostly).

Then you release what’s been penned to possibly connect with others and hopefully allow them to feel. I also personally love to make people laugh. (I wish I could be a comedian. Unfortunately, I’m not that brave. Or funny.)

No, it’s not the writing that makes me shift uncomfortably or sit with toes clinched in front of the screen. Other than the fear of female balding, my kids living at home forever, and mochi ice cream (it’s just wrong), it’s social media that scares the hell outta me.

(Photo: Wikimedia/Wikipedia/commons)

Foreskin wrapped around wannabe frozen sugar. More frightening than Twitter? You decide.

The process of following others and being followed, the constant updating, the connecting via distance. Why are there so many ways to connect outside of actual physical conversation?

  • Twitter
  • Tumblr
  • Instagram
  • Flickr
  • Pintrest (which I still cannot pronounce and I’m not even going to bother to look it up to see if I spelled correctly)
  • And, seriously WTF Snapchat…

Tons more, of course.

I’m still convinced demons are living within in Facebook’s servers, despite reassurances. (In case you were wondering, charitable religious organizations won’t do exorcisms on social media sites. Not that I believe in that sort of thing. But, just in case you do, I checked for you.)

Social media is the extension of the worst part of high school without all the flop sweat and acne. It’s the place where we go to find out whether people like us based on mostly superficial information and receive virtual wedgies and actual name calling in return. At least in high school you knew who the trolls were.

I suppose the teenager in me is ultimately concerned about judgement. There’s probably nothing to lose by sending a few typed characters or photos out into the world. It’s not like any unfortunate people have lost their jobs, mates, privacy or souls. Who cares what I put on social media? No one. Not even my mother. Especially since the last new thing she plugged in was an electric can opener in ’82.

We all know that the internet can be a horrible place full of hateful people of all kinds. Disgruntled, jaded, feather ruffling types with opinions from nowhere. Anonymous and angry and vocal. And then there’s that one guy. You know who I’m talking about. Yeah, that dude.

I’ll get over it. Everyone else has already. Right?

Outside of the emotional stresses social media can bring, what about the terrifying thought of where all that information is being compiled in the stratosphere? Check out this scary bit of information right here from Mark Cuban via Inc.:  http://www.inc.com/mark-cuban/playbook-biggest-mistake-social-media.html

Big Brother is Watching

What if he’s right? Even if the dystopian-like outlook he paints of an individual “social profile” isn’t on the horizon (yet), I don’t think it’s completely unfounded to be concerned about who/how/where our information is being tracked and stored.

Thank goodness I’m not smart enough to be concerned with whether this is a real problem. I’ll wait like everyone else until CNN tells me that I should be concerned and then tells me I’m overacting the following week until the whole thing blows over my head.

Until then, the fear has been shoved aside and the emotional baggage has been suppressed somewhere safe for later use at the next family get together.

This has been a long way around so that I could simply state: Welcome to my blog.

P.S.  Despite my neurosis I am also now on Twitter. Facebook is still too frightening, but I’m working with a therapist. I’ll let you know if than pans out.