I caved. I signed up for Twitter a couple of weeks ago. I still don’t really understand its purpose. If you see me and would like to explain, please do. It’s overwhelming being bombarded by hundreds of thoughts the minute you log on. As I scrolled through the never-ending stream of tweets, I thought to myself:
Oh, look at that. My friend got a new puppy, how cute. Ha, that joke is funny. I should tell it to my friends who aren’t on Twitter. Maybe they’ll think I made it up. Wait what’s this? Oh no, this person’s tweet is so heartbreaking. I should give them a hug the next time I see them.
How naïve I was.
These tweets of sadness were not so uncommon. Day after day, hour after hour.
Tweets about how the sky was gray, that you and your boyfriend you met two days ago had broken up or your toast was burnt. My favorite, though, are the ones that are so vague they could be about my grandmother. The tweeter thinks they are thoughtful and mysterious, while everyone else is slamming their phone in their face thinking, “Why do I keep forgetting to unfollow you?” Now I look at Twitter and think:
It’s fine if you want to be sentimental every once and awhile. I’m cool with that. When it’s raining outside and there’s a 24 hour marathon of Titanic, I get sad too. But on a completely unrelated note, half the people I follow are comedians just to compensate for your wormhole of sadness that consumes my feed.
To me, Twitter is a place to communicate with friends, stalk celebrities and procrastinate. I’d like to keep Twitter this way. A light, fun waste of time, and free of problems, deep emotions and sadness.
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