We're getting 10 inches of snow, followed by ice, followed by rain, which means I've spent the day stuck at home with a 4 year old and conversations that go like this:
Henry: What comes after people?
Me: You mean, what chases people?
Henry: No, I mean first there were dinosaurs, then monkeys, then people. What comes after people?
To avoid these conversations, or perhaps to address that particular one, I've plugged Henry into Wall-E so I can shovel the driveway twice, since I don't know how to use the snowblower. I thought running was supposed to give me overall fitness? I might have some decent gams, but running does not equip me for a couple hours of squat-and-snow-toss.
While I'm shoveling and, to be honest, during my entire alone time the last three days while Brian is in California, I can't seem to avoid giving myself constant third-person Facebook updates in my head. I think the DSM-IV calls this dissociative identity disorder, but I'm starting to forget if I'm the subject or the object of the updating, which probably qualifies me for some psychiatric intervention.
Do you get wireless in rehab?
Kristina hates snow.
Kristina doesn't know how to use her own #%$&ing snowblower.
Kristina would like to rent your husband to clear her driveway.
Kristina can't stop updating herself.
Kristina needs to get the hell off Facebook.
Make. It. Stop!
What happens if I quit Facebook? Do I instantly lose 97 friends, acquaintances, and random people who think they know me but who I couldn't reject? Is it like Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and quitting Facebook makes you forget the memories that go with each person?
You know it's becoming a problem when your child asks for a glass of milk and you tell him to hold on a second while you see if anyone's written on your wall. "Stop whining, sweetie, someone just poked me."
Here's a curious Facebook head-scratcher for you to analyze. My mother is on Facebook. But she hasn't friended me. If you're a Freudian, you can now see the origins of my status update dissociation problem.
One thing is clear from this affliction; I can read the writing on my Wall. I need another marathon. If I had a race to preoccupy me, I would be much less concerned with
narrating my entire existence in single pithy sentences.
Alright, I haven't updated my status in the last 90 seconds, so I better go and do that.
Kristina is a freaking head case.