Facebook Stole My Mojo

I think I’ve spent too much time on facebook. It always compels me to update something and simultaneously convinces me that what I have to share can be shared in 420 words or less. Thereby causing me to shave down my flowery sentences and thoughtful ramblings in order to more concisely communicate the prevalent question of what’s on my mind.

This practice in itself is something I’ve learned to do readily in the past when communicating with my husband. He, being a headline sort of guy, will glaze over and shut down if I don’t quickly sum up what it is I’m trying to say. I, being a fine print sort of gal, have learned to allow my heartfelt meanderings to be splayed first on paper or screen where I am allowed detail, rabbit trails, and other wandering of thought that in my own mind gives a much more complete picture of the feelings and facts associated with the information. Surely…you want the WHOLE truth when you ask me how I’m doing. This ability to express, whether it be in journal or at the mercy of my public blogging audience, is a bit of an emotional release for me. A girl has to talk see. We just can’t help it. We’re wired for communication and we are lit up with things to say.

So…when Headline Man comes home from a long day of meetings and smoothing wrinkles in cranky suits he is being nice when he asks, how was your day?…but the answer he really wants is for me to just give him an adjective. It can be anything…from “great!” to “lousy!” or even “mordant,” but just the headline please. He and I can leave it at that for a little while. Then, after he has loosened his collar and changed into blue jeans, he can either read about my roller coaster day on this blog, or he can join me in the kitchen and ask questions. I, of course prefer the join me in the kitchen for questions sessions more, but some days the suits are crankier than others and I just have to let the decompression happen at it’s own pace.

There are also days when I don’t get my own communication escape. Those are dangerous days. My ability to ramble to him once he has opened the fully pressured valve is pretty impressive. I am still learning how to handle this. There have been days when I know I’m going to explode on him if he so much as loosens the spigot. I go read to the kids when I think that’s going to happen.

It’s good therapy.

I love children’s books.

Ramble, ramble.

Facebook has been a nice outlet for me and gives me more headline opportunities. It’s sort of fun to say something in a brief sentence and try to communicate three paragraphs of thought and feeling at the same time. However, it doesn’t ease my fine print pain. What it does do is cause me to think less of my details before I’ve expressed them. They suddenly look like the crumbs and scraps that sit under my table after the kids eat lunch. They were at one time an important part of the meal, I wouldn’t have chosen any of them to pick off or leave out at first, but now that the meal has been consumed and they were deemed unneeded by the recipient, they look different to me. Once they’re on the floor, I just can’t use them again.

My frustration level increases when I don’t blog. My creative writing mojo is diminished by my confined expression and it’s all the fault of facebook. However, I feel pretty good today.