I thought I knew what I was getting into when I started this relationship, but I was so wrong. At first it seemed too good to be true, and apparently it was. I put so much time and effort into it, working on it…. But it started to go downhill. I started losing sleep over it. It distracted me from everything I cared about. My job, school, going out with friends. I thought it would work out, that I would be in this relationship forever…
I need to break up with Facebook.
Trying to complete a simple 1-page reading response for a discussion section takes literally six to eight times longer than it normally would because Facebook is nagging me to put out. And like the easy girl that I am, I comply. I’m whipped, plain and simple. It’s like I’m in an abusive relationship: my partner is beating me but I can’t make myself leave his sorry ass. There’s no getting out now, and a divorce is out of the question. Why hadn’t I applied for a prenup before becoming one with the biggest online social network in the world? Love is blind.
I awoke at 6 a.m. to the clatter of pelting rain and hail on the roof. Five hours later when I actually got up, the earth was soaked, but the sun was peeking out. At 3, Kehly and I decide to head to the IMU to “do shit” (aka finger Facebook) since finals are up and coming. Mere moments before we exit our apartment, I hear the sirens going off outside. We turn on the television and discover that our county was in a tornado warning. According to the doppler radar, we were in the dead center with Bill Paxton and Helen Hunt. I responded appropriately by holding an aluminum pop can in front of an open glass door.
Naturally, we receive the numerous Hawk Alerts, informing us of the danger we were in. It explained that there had been a touch down, and started to list off the safety procedures we should follow; you know, stay away from doors and windows (I’m already one down), keep listening to the radio or TV for updates, take shelter, etc. etc. And then—one of the actual safety directions was “cover your head with your hands.”
That’s like throwing spaghetti at an attack dog.
Who knew preparing your school schedule could be so stressful? I’m going to have to put it right up next to “packing.” Planning, packing—I can’t do it! I need an assistant. Preferably one with a knack for mathematics since I suck at that, too. I’ll put an ad up on Monster. We’ll see who we can’t get signed up here.
“I CAN SEE THROUGH YOUR SARCASM, MARIAM.”