Status: Spending Hours on Facebook

"I've lost my garden, I think I've killed everything," Annemarie said in her Facebook update.

I didn't recall Annemarie being an avid gardener, but until a few days earlier when we were reunited on Facebook, I hadn't been in touch with her in a decade. The fact that it was the dead of winter and that she lives in Northern New Jersey should have clued me in. But no, I told myself that perhaps she had lost her garden in an immobilizing ice storm or a major infestation of ravaging deer.

After a bizarre conversation thread, referencing weeds, bookmarks and chipmunks I finally realized she was lamenting a virtual garden. I felt virtually inadequate and embarrassed even though no one was around.

As an addictive personality with a propensity for over functioning, my take away from this cautionary tale was important. Under no circumstances was I to accept benign sounding Facebook gifts. Overnight, Facebook could easily become another time drain in my busy life to the point that it is my status.

I'm not a gardener, even a fake one, so I took immediate precautions. I provided Facebook with limited information, not because I'm opposed to expanding my virtual planet, but because the momentum of it feels on the verge of spinning out of control. One week you're a friendless, faceless blue blob and the next you feel like a virtual rock star because you've got 200 "friends" and people giving you Ferrari's and booze. I know there are many more people I would love to reconnect with via Facebook, but not everybody I've ever met.

So for my first several weeks I ignored the smattering of passed out drinks and snowballs flirtatiously beamed my way. I didn't even want to accept candy or return smiles. Perhaps I offended my small number of friends by not accepting their "gifts." But the truth is as a person who sometimes gets in over her head, I was concerned I wouldn't be able to sustain what I started. Sooner or later I would let someone down, or perhaps even kill a whole rainforest. I couldn't be blindly sucked into a place that would eat more of my time and exploit my often misguided sense of responsibility. Facebook could quickly equal Wastebook. Would I have to become a bartender or go to virtual alcoholics anonymous if I accepted the drinks? Go to visit the virtual dentist if I accepted the candy?

But I've adjusted to my online social routine. I've slowly entered into this gift giving business which could so easily morph into fray. Facebook and all these silly applications make it easy to quickly and freely reestablish comfortable repartee with old friends. This week I've accepted a Mojito, a Jesus on a bicycle and some Cheese Nips. In return I sent out Scarlett O'Hara, Nascar and she-crab soup.Pretty exciting stuff for someone who rarely leaves the house.

Then just as I am getting more comfortable I have heard rumblings from several early adult adopters of Facebook who may be growing weary of the whole thing.A new friend on Twitter, tweeted, "My judgmental aunt is now on Facebook. I'm so out of there." Another Facebook friend said that an ex-boyfriend who broke her heart whom she had successfully been avoiding for months had befriended her. Then a blogging friend wrote this post about the addictive and time consuming aspects of everyone's favorite virtual gathering place. Turns out she had a bit of a problem with her garden too.

Today, I got a request to accept something on Facebook, that for the first time in a couple of weeks, I didn't automatically accept. Someone out there has nominated me for "The Nicest Person On Facebook." Clearly something is up with that one. Those new requests to take IQ tests to see if I can beat my friends' scores now have me concerned too. Who can see this stuff? One word: nightmare.

Perhaps I should go back and read all that small print I'm always accepting that comes with these applications. Or maybe I should just drink that Wild Turkey someone’s trying to give me.

Any Facebook stories you want to share?

 Margo M

Life in the Short Lane

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