I’m a natural follower. Middle of the pack kind of guy. Whatever is considered cool is fine with me. Somewhere, a long time ago, I lost myself and picked up a different, more carefully fabricated version.
I joined Facebook not to connect but to stalk. Secretly browse through “friends” photo albums seeing how they defined fun. Ideas for vacations, what bands to listen to, what books to read were derived from profile likes.
My Tumblr page doesn’t contain one original post. It’s a complete shame. I spend hours every day trolling through others pages looking for stuff to re-post hoping that if I put it on my page it will somehow change me, inspire me.
Twitter is even worse. I blindly follow people with little regard to the consequences. It’s like a drunken co-ed giving out her cell phone number at a frat party. Currently the ratio is ten to one. I get depressed when strangers don’t follow me back. I sit and struggle to produce some witty aphorism or comment on society in 140 characters or less. I’ve been known to spend an hour constructing a tweet.
I bought flannel shirts not for the comfort but for the connotation they carry. I drink green tea and chug Pabst Blue Ribbon hoping people will notice. I wear Doc Martens despite them giving me blisters. My pants are way too tight, making it hard to bend over and pick stuff up or even sit down for long periods of time. Ray Ban glasses are always perched atop my nose. I have 20/20 vision.
You may think I’m pathetic, a poser, unoriginal but I’m really you. And that’s what I hate about myself most.