It’s been three months since I killed my Facebook. I won’t lie – it wasn’t my idea . I was forced to .My sanity and self worth demanded it.
When the pain of losing the valuable friendships I’d made with people I didn’t know and having to block some that I did ( no , you don’t get details) finally subsided , I made an astonishing discovery.
I was amazed at how much of a soul sucker it had been. Without the stress of wondering if any of my posts were liked or if I had been unfriended by someone I didn’t even know, I felt amazingly light. It was time to discover myself.
With so much time on my hands , I just knew it was my chance to do some deep soul searching. Who was I ? Why am I here? Do aliens exist? Does my dog really like me or is her behavior just a highly evolved form of manipulation designed to provide her with Maslow’s hierchy of needs? What shade of red was Taylor Swift wearing in her internet breaking new video ?
My self -help train wreck didn’t have a designated stop for instructions or how to apply the brakes. If it did , I was too busy juicing to notice it.
Lymphatic cleansings , heavy metal testing and no gluten, soy or life… had left me empty.
Like really empty- the kind that can’t even. Can’t even . Like I can’t even believe that I would ever use such vulgar terminology. I used to have a vocabulary that wasn’t banal, insipid and let’s face it – uninspiredly wretched.
Is this who I really was ? Just a pseudointellectual , a decidedly unclever being who liked nontrendy trends , one who actually read Sylvia Plath and listened to Lana Del Rey?
Unpretentiously I knew that I was deeper than that . Maybe new lipstick would help.
I’m not a makeup fiend who has to have whatever is on my Instagram . So , I bought the most delicious tube of happy – one that I had been drooling over .
Yes, that one. Anastasia of Beverly Hills in Smoke. It was a dreamy , darkly stormy haze that reminded me of tornadoes and Grapevine Fires. I couldn’t believe that it wasn’t sold out in stores everywhere- it was the only shade any respectable Nightwalker would be caught dead in. I was drolly estastic. Where had this color been? The teenage goth girl I used to be rejoiced. They didn’t make this hue of dismal abyss when I actually coveted it.
At this point enters my oh -so clever, witty and mostly delightful daughter. She cooed jealously over this holy grail of instant gratification while trying it on. ” I might need to borrow this for Halloween, I’m going as Anne Boleyn.” Of course she is . There goes my costume .
You have by now surmised that new lipstick changed nothing. At least not this time. Now Speak Up, Taylor. I need to know who makes that perfect red.