“Reluctantly” isn’t a strong enough word. I’m rejoining Facebook the same way a seven year old enters a dentists’ office for a molar removal. Without Novocain.

Because it’s been lovely without Facebook. It’s been bliss to live without the tedious, mindless updates. Without the constant “so and so changed their profile pic!” notifications. I’ve loved not knowing the inner ramblings of the people I thought I liked. Yes, leaving Facebook allowed me to enjoy people for who they actually presented themselves to be, in real life, rather than their digital avatars who lead (unbeknownst to them) feckless, boring lives.

I bet you’re all super glad to have me back, yes?

So why rejoin? Why return to the daily display of mediocrity? Why insult everyone who uses it first?

Good question. Because I had no choice. Everyone uses Facebook to communicate. Everyone uses Facebook to meet up in real life, presumably so they can discuss real things as they actually happened, not the sepia-toned, happy-go-lucky memory capture they shared via their iPhone.

Side note: I’m dreading seeing all the photos of people’s food. Dear God, why the food photos?

Yet I must rejoin. Facebook is like the Hotel California, and if you want to socialize with people in real life, you have to use the digital meet space.

Therefore I’m back. After trying to make plans with what seemed like seven thousand million different people for this Sunday and no one was available, I realized I had to plug back in. I had to rejoin the blue Zuckerberg Matrix of people who raise pitchforks every time Facebook makes a change to anything.

Yay?

But my return is on a limited basis. LIMITED. If I’ve invited you to be my friend take it for the honor that it is. But don’t be surprised when I’m never commenting or reacting to your posts. Mostly because I’ve got you hidden, for all the reasons listed above (and more below). I want to continue to know the real you, not the you who posts the artificially joyful news on your timeline. I want to meet up with you to enjoy the outdoors. I don’t want to sit at my computer in the wee hours of the night reacting to your potty-training updates from your toddler. As momentous as the occasion is, I’m sure.

Yes, I realize this post oozes with pomposity. That’s me. A snob. An honest, blunt, scary snob. But don’t worry, your timeline won’t be filled with my snootiness. Unless this post somehow shows up. For which I make a halfhearted apology out of “politeness.”

You think maybe you want to be FB friends? Whoa, are you sure? Have your read any of this? Wow, okay. Maybe we have your head examined. But it’s fine by me. As long as I know you in some capacity. As in we’ve worked together. We’ve been friends at some point. We’ve been acquaintances. We made some kind of connection and we remember each other. So long as those memories are good and not filled with Oh God Not Her, we can connect. But I’m looking for actual connection, not “Let’s get 10000000 likes for this one cause so I can virtue signal to the world how much I FREAKING CARE!”

Because no, that’s why I fled Facebook. I’m done with the symbolism. I’m done with the virtue signaling. I’m done with the selfies. So, so, so done with the selfies. Seriously, you guys, stop it. No one looks good in a selfie. No one. Especially you men. Y’all look like child molesting creepers, even you good looking dudes. Knock that crap off.

And so it is. The digital pit sucks me back in after many years of being away. Alas, all you humans insist on using this dang thing to socialize for realzies.