I left Facebook once. I felt like I was in a demanding relationship. Notice me. Pay attention to me. Never mind your life. Damn, needy, much, Facebook? GET A LIFE! It took deactivation, email from them questioning my choices, (deactivation comes complete with a guilt screen of shots of your friends you have tagged previously in photos YOU HAVE DELETED about how they will miss you), an email assuring you deactivation means you can come back any time (“you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave“) , realising this, going back in, oh welcome back we missed you email, wading through four or five layers of help to find where to delete your account. Then an interrogation why, and finally, you are told it will be fourteen days before you are gone. A further email reminds you have fourteen days to see reason and come back, all is forgiven.
Then I rejoined, as it seems my friends are trained in The Way of The Zuckerberg(pat pend). I felt I was missing social activities – well, I was. So, I was sucked back into the vortex. But an odd thing happened. I resented Facebook. I loathed it for what I felt it was doing, like a rebellious teneager again I seeme hell bent on ignoring and flouting it. I send information into it, but do not allow it to reach me. I rarely respond on it, and generally only via email TO the email alerts. and that is the state of play on all my myriad of social networks. I like sharing the things I find, like a child showing her parent the umpteenth shell at a beach littered with them. But I only tend to respond to direct communication, and even that can be terribly delayed. I want to, but it is all if I have time.
Time, aye, that is the rub…Like so many things, it’s about time. Yes, i know;)
I have too much time. I have too little time. Not contradictory, obvious and complimentary.
In the good times, I have some mobility, not as much pain, the drugs aren’t making me too sick.
I have my rediscovered husband. One of my dearest friends, man of my desires. The man I have dreamt of all my life, the one person who I feel as the missing jigsaw piece, as if all the jagged bits are smooth and healed. I do not need him so I can be. I need him because with him I can be the most me I can. We make each other content. At home. Peace. Fulfilment. And even, sometimes, for it is a damn ephemeral and would consume if taken in too high doses, happy. With the children, he is the joy, the colour in my world. I have five amazing people i am proud to call my children, three of whom still have raising to be done. They even seem to want to spend time with me, which is such a compliment I could burst – messy but you get the idea;)I have my elderly dad, and even though he is recovering from severe cancer, i want to spend time with him while i can. I have a delightful Jack Russell Terrier, Larry Larrikin, The Wonder Dog.
I have magic friends who I feel guilty for not seeing or spending enough time with, or in one case, worry (as we work together) that she will get thoroughly sick of me. As she saved my life, I must remind her she is now responsible for it in some cultures, and hope that wards off any angst. Fortunately, her sainthood is on back order:)I have quilting as an art medium. I am developing in the Open Source realm, as UI Lead at the Serval Project, at Flinders University (my Alma Mater!)which is also a projectI helped cofound, and that makkes me inordinately proud. It is about communications where most needed. My cofounder is a man of brilliance and genius and all round super hero levels of patience and niceness. I struggle to be worthy. The work I am doing voluntarily is also leap frogging me into a secretly wished for PhD. Have mercy…
I have a severe spinal injury from a car accident six and a half years ago. In the bad times, I have terrible, lying in bed and whimpering type pain, and drug side effects. In the good, the drugs help me be basically functional, and stubbornness helps with the rest. I am never free of pain, pain is a companion I have learnt to live with – he goads me to prove I am better than him. In times of pain, I have the need to escape. Into other wheres, other minds, other times. I do not have time for signal to noise. I am struggling to survive. Into audio books, print books, movies, anything that can help expand my mind at best, escape and wryly, wincingly smile, at least. And at worst, i endure. It means I am disabled. It has a been an odd gift, the gift of patience, of self tolerance, of learning my limits, of learning how to push but not drive myself. I need to use a wheelchair quite often, or a walking stick for short distances. It does disconcert people when I get up and hobble around – I have the urge (and yes I do give in far too often) to shout “I’m cured” when I do so;)
I quilt. Passionately, if not well. I knit and crochet, moderately, as I cannot sit and do nothing. I read, addictively. Ebooks, audio books, paper books, it is all reading to me. There is sunshine and air and life to be explored when i am mobile. I do not have time for signal to noise. I have a life.
I have no need to advertise myself, or promote myself. I do not seek approval. I hope people like me, but I can live without it, as long as the people I love are happy enough with me.
My Twitter profile says this about me : barefoot, wheelchair bound code witch, linux/mac geek. have a lovely partner, mother of 5. atheist. book addict, rest is subject to change without notice.