Remember when I told everyone to deactivate their Facebook accounts? Fuck, that was a wonderful idea. Lemme tell you, that turned out to be one of the best decisions I’ve made since moving to LA.
Toward the end of my days dancing with Zuckerberg’s blue and white monster, my account was a vast collection of exes, one night stands, and random people from my distant past with whom I shared nothing but a hometown or an alma mater. Sure, my inner circle was there too, but I never needed Facebook to keep up with them. In fact, when it came to my actual friends, I only needed to check in occasionally to untag myself from otherwise compromising photos.
It was all a big chore, really — a gigantic time-suck that required constant scandal pruning once family members and potential employers joined up and started poking around. It’s been a few months now, and I can’t tell you how much better I feel with Facebook out of my life. It is downright fucking glorious to not have a clue what’s going on in the worlds of several hundred people who are not and never were anything close to “friends.”
Right now, I have no idea whether some girl I went to high school with is pregnant again. I have no idea what some random dude I fucked at Coachella did for Mother’s Day. Best of all, I have no idea whether my batshit ex-boyfriend ever made partner at that law firm. I love not knowing.
Trust me, people. Ignorance really is bliss.