Before I even get out of bed in the morning, I roll over and check my Facebook. While I’m in class, I keep my laptop open so I can pretend to type notes while my professor lectures and check my Facebook. When I’m with friends, I get on the Internet, so I can show them a video of a cat who wants a cheeseburger and check my Facebook.
My entire life has become a puzzle of finding out how to access my Facebook as often as possible. The little red box notification sign has become a barometer of self-worth, and when the new friend request icon lights up, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning.
My name is Justin Plemmons, and I am addicted to Facebook.
Therein lies my predicament, and I’m going without Facebook for a week just to see what happens.
Tuesday:
I count Tuesday as my first day. I log in one more time to post a status about me being offline for the next week, so nobody would think I died.
I can imagine logging on Facebook on Sunday and seeing an invite to my own funeral. I would click “maybe” because I’m coy.
They say no Facebook for a week, but that starts when I next log out. So if I never log out, I never have to leave Facebook. But then I realize my computer is set to restart in 15 minutes, and when it boots back up, it’ll be logged out automatically.
Here it goes. 7:15 p.m. Tuesday. Five days without Facebook.
You can do this Justin (I talk to myself when I’m nervous).
One week without funny status updates.
One week without funny status update comments.
One week without pictures of my female friends boozing and wearing skimpy outfits.
I can do this.
Wednesday:
Today, I have been legitimately concerned about whether or not anybody has commented on my farewell update.
Will anybody care I’ve been gone for a week?
there be any kind of fanfare when I finally do log back on? A weirdly poignant fear of mine is that I’ll have no new notifications come Sunday.
I thought I would have been more productive without Facebook draining away at my time, but in reality, all I’ve managed to do is find other ways to dick around.
I found out my roommate had “Pokemon Snap” and an N64, so I beat it. I had some comics that I never got around to reading, so I read them.
I haven’t done any more or less homework than I would have otherwise, and my apartment remains a big stupid mess.
I don’t have an interesting enough life to fill my time with actual activity.
Also, a good thought: So much of my life is just filler. Maybe a week without Facebook will lead me to find some cool stuff to do in the real world?
Doubtful.
Thursday:
It is really hard to burn a few a minutes without Facebook. I am scheduled to perform stand up at a club in town, for which I have to leave in about 20 minutes, but these have been the most boring 20 minutes of my life. In a just world, I would be going through my friends’ statuses and thinking of witty comments to make.
Status: “Carolyn had a great time with the boys last night!”
Comment: “I’m sure you did ;)”
I could read or something, but who reads anymore?
Friday:
Today, I found myself in a weird position where I actually needed to get on Facebook for personal reasons. I thought it would be satisfying to see notifications and event invites, but it just felt cheap and weird and not at all enjoyable and cathartic like I thought it would.
However, after being on Facebook for about five minutes to send a few messages and then cutting myself off again, I found myself craving it like nicotine. There’s this weird, dull ache that’s a mix between curiosity and wanting the comfort of this old, usual habit.
Saturday:
I kept busy for almost the entire day. But when I got home around 10 p.m., I realized I have nothing to do. Facebook now stares me down from my Google Chrome most visited pages. An unblinking, uncaring master stares into my eyes and whispers, “It’s okay Justin. I won’t tell anybody.”
I close my laptop and turn on the TV. Then I get a text from a friend of mine saying he just put up pictures from this party we went to and how hilarious they are.
Crap.
My parents are on Facebook; they can’t see pictures of me drinking and being a bad christian — they’ll be stricken with grief. And my poor grandma! Her dear little heart would give out.
So I flip on my laptop and log onto Facebook and see three notifications. None of them are telling me that I was tagged in any photos. I send my friend a text message saying, “What pictures?”
He sends one back that says,”SIKE.”
I have bad friends.
Sunday:
So here I am, Sunday 8 p.m. I technically didn’t make the entire five days, but I don’t care. I gave it the old college try and I feel better for it. Logging onto Facebook to mess around for the first time, I really am disappointed. There is no fanfare. Just a little blue button above my newsfeed that says “300+.” When I click it, it fills my screen with arbitrary updates.
I realize now that I don’t miss Facebook at all. For a site that wastes so much of my time, there is little actual content to it — all the site does is turn us into nosy gossips. I didn’t make the full five days, but I feel like I was able to pretty nearly kick my Facebook habit.
My friend Danielle wants me to join a group that promises somebody will name their kid Megatron if a million people join. I click ignore.
Will there be any kind of fanfare when I finally do log back on? A weirdly poignant fear of mine is that I’ll have no new notifications come Sunday.
I thought I would have been more productive without Facebook draining away at my time, but in reality, all I’ve managed to do is find other ways to fool around.
I found out my roommate had “Pokemon Snap” and an N64, so I beat it. I had some comics that I never got around to reading, so I read them.
Thursday:
It is really hard to burn a few a minutes without Facebook. In a just world, I would be going through my friends’ statuses and thinking of witty comments to make.
Status: “Carolyn had a great time with the boys last night!”
Comment: “I’m sure you did ;)”
Friday:
Today I found myself in a weird position where I actually needed to get on Facebook for personal reasons. I thought it would be satisfying to see notifications and event invites, but it just felt cheap and weird and not at all enjoyable and cathartic like I thought it would.
However, after being on Facebook for just about five minutes to send a few messages, I found myself craving it like nicotine.
Saturday:
I kept busy for almost the entire day. But when I got home around 10 p.m., I realized I had nothing to do.
I close my laptop and turn on the TV. Then I get a text from a friend of mine saying he just put up pictures from this party we went to and how hilarious they are.
Crap. My parents are on Facebook; they can’t see pictures of me drinking and being a bad Christian — they’ll be stricken with grief. So I log onto Facebook and see three notifications. None of them are telling me that I was tagged in any photos. I send my friend a text message.
He sends one back that says, “SIKE.”
Sunday:
So here I am, Sunday 8 p.m. I technically didn’t make the entire five days, but I don’t care. Logging onto Facebook to mess around for the first time, I really am disappointed. There is no fanfare. Just a little blue button above my newsfeed that says “300+.”
I realize now that I don’t miss Facebook at all. For a site that wastes so much of my time, there is little actual content to it — all the site does is turn us into nosy gossips.
My friend Danielle wants me to join a group that promises somebody will name their kid “Megatron” if a million people join. I click ignore.
