I keep forgetting my life is about me. Not what other people think of me.
This is a totally easy thing to do because of the interwebz. Twitter @replies, Facebook messages, Tumblr hearts – they all seem to set your self-worth. And if your page has ‘0’ likes, you take it a bit personally.
Checking Favstar. Checking how many people follow you. Am I relevant? Am I liked? Why didn’t anyone retweet me? How could only seventeen people look at the photo I just posted to Twitpic?
It really isn’t that difficult to fall into the warm embrace of praise, even on social media. Maybe especially on social media, considering it is the closest thing we ‘little people’ have to being famous. It stirs something within our brains. Neurons shoot out. Endorphins release. Norepinephrine (not to be confused with Nora Ephron, though she’s fun) is probably involved. It’s like the most ridiculous form of morphine ever, but also the most powerful because it is self created. And when it’s gone… people like Britney Spears go out and shave their heads.
I don’t really care when a follower unfollows on Twitter me unless it happens to also be a real life friend. I try not to care if something is favorited or liked or reblogged or not, but everyone does. I hope that this is reblogged about four hundred times and that at least thirty people comment about how pretty I am. That’s just life. We’re all kind of fighting for attention. Me? I’m just waiting for my Sally Field moment so I can rest assured, you like me. You really like me.
On Facebook, would ya please?
The internet just magnifies people’s self centered nature (for the most part.) in a scary way and we all turn into these narcissists with subjective personality disorder and a lot of one armed photos of ourselves. Says the girl who only ever writes about herself and has a front facing camera on her phone.
I guess what I’m saying is, don’t forget what really matters: the three friends who would totally have your back, your family (the ones that are nice to you if applicable), QVC (for me.), a sense of humor about how terrible life can be sometimes, and Nutella. If you have those things, what more do you need? I mean, other than money because, you guys, this isn’t the Oregon Trail, you can’t just trade beaver pelts for a can of corn and some dysentery anymore.