I’ve never denied that I’m obsessive, a bit Pollyanna-ish, and prone to take the world and all of its moons just a little too seriously. It was that combination of traits that made me an ideal Catholic School student in the Sixties. If I didn’t receive 100 on a Spelling quiz, the Daughters of Charity felt my pain. In tandem, they’d often quietly add to my pain as well.
Today, I feel such pain. I bet today the sore bleeds and throbs more dramatically. I have no advocates remaining in my corner. That is certainly the case with a certain networking site. I won’t pussyfoot any further. I was zapped this afternoon by the Pentagruels of social networking sites in the most unholy of ways.
I have been suspended, removed, or deleted … whatever the proper term is. I no longer exist in that milieu. The censors have pissed on my keyboard and seized my almost 50,000 images posted to almost 350 albums. They will not return the fruit of a half year’s passion and detail. It is collateral damage.
There is no Customer Service department to contact. There is only an address to which I can send an email, with only my address as context. There is no outlet for inquiry or in which to plead a case.
The afternoon has gone terribly wrong. No one can really see into my mind and determine how I actually do feel. No one really “feels” my devastation. No one feels the extent of the violation.
For six months,said site has engaged me for an amalgate of probably one entire month of online term if not more. Over 750 hours.
True, the entire process has provided me with entertainment at a time when there is so little. Since the only time I leave the house is for a doctor’s appointment, it just gets me from A to B each day.
But the love affair has ended. There is neither an iota of fanfare nor the slightest brouhaha.
There seems to be no small way with which to make a bad situation good. Or to even just lessen the anger and sadness!
I will not shed a tear for Social Networks of any color Nor will I dance into a Hell of heartbreak.
I shall save my pins now for intricately and specifically fashioned voodoo dolls.
Other folks best pin away “ad infinitem”, eh Tartuffe?
“Farewell, Mein Lieben Herr!”
I remain your humble poster, Boardless in Raleigh.
(Image: Poster for “Orpheus in the Underworld” by Gerald Scarfe, 1989.)