The vernal equinox seems a perfect time to shed Facebook. Spring cleaning on a macro scale. It makes me think of the remains of last year’s garden: mostly dead, ugly stuff with only a few hardy perennials raising their innocent faces to the warming sun. The innocents are deluded, though. In that garden, venomous snakes and other slithery darkness dwellers prey on the Pollyannas. I’m weary of enabling that crowd and don’t want to play anymore.
And speaking of the “in real life” garden, since that’s really what’s on my mind, putting old Facebook in mothballs, wrapping it in chains, encasing it in concrete and throwing it off a deep-sea fishing vessel, is quite a good way to greet the spring, to turn over dirt, rescue winter’s survivors, and set out tender new plants.
Tomorrow I’ll brew up a pot of French Roast, sit in the morning sun with a real notebook and pen, drink and think and write and throw my head back and laugh.
No more code. No more emoticons. I don’t want to live anywhere but in real life. How about you?