“I’m using my brother’s laptop. It’s neat.” posted 1 minute ago
“The toddler’s crying. Again.” posted 3 minutes ago
“&!#*, I stubbed my toe!!!!!” posted 4 minutes ago
“Here’s the latest photo of me.” posted 5 minutes ago
“I’m drinking coffee. This stuff is so good.” posted 7 minutes ago
“I’ve got a song stuck in my head.” posted 8 minutes ago
“Baby’s kicking. Dang he’s strong!” posted 9 minutes ago
“Can’t decide what to have for breakfast.” posted 11 minutes ago
“Think I might go to the grocery store today if I ever get around to a shower.” posted 14 minutes ago
These were just a handful of the near-endless stream of Twitter postings from someone I used to follow on Twitter. Notice the past tense. I used to follow her blog, too, but after several weeks of reading one entry after another about the problems in her marriage, her child’s misbehavior, and how she never has any time to do the housework, her paid work or even just relax… well, I got sick of it.
It’s no secret I’m not a huge fan of social media even if I Twitter now and again. That, to me, is the distinction: I don’t Twitter non-stop descriptions about my personal life. I’m much too busy living it. I also don’t have the time (or the interest) in following the mundane details of every little thought that pops into someone else’s head all damn day and night.
Honestly, when I signed up for Twitter I didn’t think that’s what it was all about. And, for the majority of power Twitterers that’s not what the medium’s purpose is. Most use it to network: to exchange links, draw or push traffic, and occasionally for the quick “anyone know the answer to this?” request. Sure, the power Twitterers occasionally provide less-than-interesting updates (“Sitting in the SF airport” or “Off to go mow the lawn.”)
But they don’t provide an endless stream of such tripe. They don’t waste entire days updating their Tweets then later lament about why they never accomplish anything. They don’t assume that everyone who once opted to follow them is now interested in the excruciating details of their excruciatingly boring lives.
They also don’t send me pissy emails calling me a slew of 4-letter names after discovering that I’d had my fill of their minute-by-minute monologues which added absolutely nothing to my life aside from the smugness that it’s infinitely more productive and rewarding than theirs.
You know who you are.
Now, go away.