Like with twitter previously, I was one of the few remaining holdouts of Facebook. I didn’t want to sign up, because I didn’t think I particularly cared to find people I went to school with, who knew me back when. However, I found myself missing a few connections, a piece of my life from before. And so I finally took the plunge as a beginning first step.
Self-discovery, it starts with Facebook.
While it has been great to reconnect, it’s also forced me into contemplation. Especially when asked what I’ve been up to all this time.
What have I been up to?
I barely travel outside my home, let alone exotic destinations. There is no career that I’m proud of. Most of my friends are words on a screen. In the past 10 years, I have had pregnancy after pregnancy. My stomach extended and deflated. I quit my job to change diapers and chase kids. I yell “no!” so often my throat hurts. I pick up toys and blocks. I clean the house like a maid. I wash dishes and vacuum and sort laundry. I cook dinner. I don’t shower as often as I’d prefer. I’m not allowed to use the bathroom by myself. I am a human tissue, my clothes always stained. I stay in the same pajama pants most days. I feel lucky when I can frame a decent photograph. I check email and twitter for some interaction (validation?), though the concept of social media is still mind-boggling. I spin tales about poop on the internet. I’m a writer, maybe. I’m a mother, sometimes poorly. One step forward, two steps back.
This can’t be it, there has to be more.
What the hell have I been up to?