SOULTIGHT

Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t care to know if a friend just found a parking spot in another part of the world or if someone just found a pair of shoes they like in their size at a store a thousand miles away from me or if someone just ate the best hamburger at a particular restaurant three states away from me. It there was ever a mundane message, then those are. I have received even more mundane messages than those.


I was encouraged to have a twitter account but I find it to be a waste, a virtual time vampire. No one ever responds to the messages I send. My guess is because they’re legitimate; I’m not telling thousands of strangers that my cat sheds a lot of hair or that the washer at the laundromat is more effective than the washer at home, or that my neighbor is worried about the swine flu. I’m actually messaging editors of poetry magazines or literary agents or screenwriters to get my writings published or made into a screenplay, or helping a friend find job leads. The friends I have on twitter, my real friends, we communicate the old fashioned way. We call each other. Or we email and text each other.

For reasons like that alone, I’m terminating my twitter account.

My brother, whose work life and home life leaves him too busy to mail me pictures of my God-daughter, updates his facebook profile with the pictures. Otherwise I would terminate my facebook account for the same reason.