In what seemed like a moment of clarity yesterday, I deleted the Facebook app from my phone and asked my husband to log into my phone and ban me from the mobile version as well. I asked him to use the parental block, create a passcode, and block me from accessing Facebook for more than 15 minutes a day (just long enough to see puppy and baby pics, and post my daily blog) on my phone, my MacBook Air, and my Mac since they are all connected by some invisible Apple cloud in the sky. He agreed. He did it. Then I immediately tried to log into the Facebook mobile site.

Damn it.

Okay, here’s my line of thinking.

Facebook has been, and always will be, my biggest time-killer. It’s where I get my news, though there are tons of other ways. It’s where I stay connected to family and friends who live far away, but I can always call and text or (gasp) write letters! And it’s where I sort of document my life, my husband’s life, and my son’s life for posterity. But I can do that here now. So why was I really on Facebook so much? To self-indulge.

I like Facebook to get into political spats with strangers on the comment sections of USA Today.

I like Facebook because there is always someone who seems to be having a shittier day than me and it makes me feel better.

I like Facebook because I can be self-loathing while CNN plays in a small part of my screen, and poodles dance around in another part. I can compare my life to others. I can offer witty banter toward Trump supporters who never really understand I’m making fun of them.

But really what that all says is that I can let Facebook, and the people on there (half the people I am “friends” with I don’t even like in real life, even the ones I’m technically related to) ruin my day. And I let them. A lot you guys. I let them zap my energy. I let them take up my motivation for laundry, and real writing, and calling people I like, and volunteering in my community, and I let them turn that time into hours and hours of meaningless crap.

Like yesterday I called three different people out on their bullshit posts, and what changed? Not a damn thing. I didn’t make them see how horribly wrong they were, like how no, you probably shouldn’t be comparing the plight of the Jewish people in concentration camps in Nazi Germany to crazy, gun advocates. They don’t give a shit about that. They just like to share memes.

Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! I feel better.

So, fifteen minutes a day. That’s it. Enough to say I’m alive. Enough to share the link to my daily blog post (cause it’s the only social media site I can’t do it from here), and enough to share pics of Jackson. Fifteen minutes. Okay? Okay. Okay sure. Let’s do this.

Wish me luck.

M.