Facebook. A black hole forever sucking good intentions.
I’m sitting on the train. Standard December Monday morning commute – I have a hangover and I’m 15 minutes late. The guy next to me is scrolling through pictures of a girl on a beach. She’s blonde, lean and tanned. He’s almost as pasty as me. He zooms into her cleavage. I’m pretty sure it’s not his sister. Could be his girlfriend. But it probably isn’t.
Depending on where you get your stats, people spend, on average, anything from 20 to 40 minutes a day. Let’s go straight down the middle and say, for the purposes of this post, that half an hour is a realistic figure.
3.5 hours a week (even longer than fucking Avatar).
15 hours a month.
182 hours a year.
Say you work a 35 hour week, which is 1,820 hours a year.
And the average UK wage is £26,500 (thanks Google!).
It equates to 10% – £2,650 – of your annual salary.
This isn’t the part where I try to sell you a pyramid scheme…But it is the part where I speak about how I’ve been thinking about removing Facebook from my life.
I’ll lie in bed on Saturday morning, mumbling that it’s too windy outside to go for a run – oh, how I would love to move to a city by the sea with a temperate climate…Sydney, perhaps – and I’ll scroll through Facebook.
Most of my Friends are in their mid-thirties now. And most of my Friends are no longer my friends. They’re simply people I used to know and have since moved on with their lives. I don’t need to see a picture of their kid or the nice new Mercedes they bought on finance.
Or how Mandy’s teeth look borderline Hollywood since she paid ten grand to pay for a couple of veneers.
Or to receive an invite to somebody’s birthday party I haven’t spoken to since Mika’s Grace Kelly was #1. And look! They’ve also invited 836 other people and it costs five quid on the door (three if you mention Yvonne’s name).
And somebody’s just posted a link to how the government have used fracking as a front to pump nuclear waste underneath the earth…actually, that one can stay. There’s a YA apocalyptic horror novel right there…
Vice article. Well done. Edgy.
Anodyne Huffington Post rewrite of an article Vice posted six months ago.
Kathy likes Bose headphones. Smiley fucking face.
How to trim your bikini line before giving birth.
Picture of a dog (pug, obvs).
Something about football.
A girl I kissed once in the ‘90s has changed her profile picture. She’s smiling with her mouth. Her eyes are dead – the life gradually sucked out of them, one unsolicited Tinder dick pic at a time.
Someone is at the beach.
Work colleague friends me up. Really? But we don’t even like each other in the office. Why are we continuing that thin layer of civility outside of it? But I can’t deny the fucker. That would be rude.
It’s somebody’s birthday. Everyone writes on their bastard wall.
Bjork video. I hate Bjork.
Prince is still alive.
And some cunt’s putting on a fucking DJ night a Shoreditch playing IRONIC NINETY’S HIP HOP + R + B
A guy who was a dick at school has spawned another child.
And then to top it all off, some asshole has the audacity to post a link to their WordPress blog about creative writing.
Jesus! It’s all too much.
Anyway. My point is, Facebook. No. Done. Over it.
I tried to delete it this morning, but felt like a junkie trying to flush away his stash. I…just…couldn’t…do it.
I wrote the update – Deleting Facebook. Etc. Email me here…
I’ll do it tonight…I’ll do it tonight…