It was 2007.
When it started, it was just a bit of fun.
The flirtation turned to affection, then a co-dependence.
Not quite a bunny on the boil, but the snappage point had no more slack to give.
It wasn’t always like this.
I mean, I remember what life was like without Facebook.
I remember actually knowing all my friends’ phone numbers by heart. I remember emailing or phoning-in epic tales to family to let them know what’s been happening with me. I remember the rage-enducing engaged tone when impatiently trying to call home when mum was gasbagging with my Aunty Steph.
I remember the little love notes and pictures I used to draw for boyfriends… daydreaming about where they were, what they were doing and if they were thinking of me… at 28.
There was a mysteriousness about other people’s lives before Zuckerberg came along.
This week I deactivated my account. Not deleted – deactivated.
Like an induced coma.
I’m not ready to delete. I mean, so much work has gone into my Facey page. And to be quite frank, occasionally I’ll go right back to the beginning of my Timeline and reacquaint myself with my own overly thought out status updates at the time.
I even have the status updates and private messages that were all about meeting this fab new bloke. The Mister.
Besides, I have to be on it for work purposes – not my page, but my admin rights are connected to my page. Urgh.
The thing is, The Mister and I are having a tough time.
A tough time finding time for each other.
His schedule, other than working a fulltime job (the token 9-to-5 deal), includes some kind of sporting commitment. Like almost every night after work.
Right now it’s worse than usual, as the seasons are starting to overlap.
It’s a combination of indoor cricket, indoor soccer, outdoor soccer training and cricket training.
Saturdays are always taken up with cricket from 12 to around 7pm and I think he mentioned something about this Sunday having his first outdoor soccer scratch-match for the up-coming season.
I really have to write this down properly – most nights I don’t know where he is.
I work an ever-changing schedule, which means the earliest I would ever start work is 6am and the latest I would leave is about 8.30pm.
So while it’s not exactly a complete passing-ships-in-the-night situation, it’s not perfect symmetry either.
You would think that when he got in from his sports, I would be following him around like an eager puppy.
I would always be online.
Sitting up in bed, I would look to my right and see that The Mister would be fed, showered and just about nodding-off when I would realise he had been home for at least 45 minutes.
In my ‘liking’ stupor, I wouldn’t have noticed.
Last week I realised that the wifi was the only thing getting any action in the bedroom.
Our pillow talk went like this…
The Mister: What’s happening on Facey?
Something had to be done.
The next day, I was mucking around reading the sudden-tsuami of ‘I’m leaving Facebook’ articles online to canvass the experience, when a Jamiroquai song shuffled on to my iTunes called ‘Little L’.
The funny thing is, I wrote this song out for a disinterested ex-boyfriend a long time ago.
Now I was rewriting it for Facebook.
You’re playing so hard to get
You’re making me sweat just to hold your attention
I can’t give you nothing more
If you ain’t givin’ nothing to me
So, just like that, I deactivated my account.
Then I went straight on to Twitter to announce my feelings of redemption.
The BBF (best boy friend and former Facebook member) tweeted back instantly, ‘I’m so proud’.
He asked if I had left a note for people explaining my decision. I hadn’t.
Then I felt bad so I reactivated it to send a little toorah and to let everyone know that I’m still up for texting, tweeting and phonecalls.
So far, it’s been about 4 or 5 days since my last status update and I think I’ve managed to claw back some serious hours.
The Mister is still getting used to my new availability, which I think he’s secretly looking forward to me following him around like a puppy after he gets home from training.
LOL, not quite.
But we’re still to get some of our groove back.
This must be one of those ‘troughs’ that counter the peaks in life. It doesn’t help that it’s thermonuclear at nighttime at the moment – even if The Mister touches my hand I’m like ‘too hot, sorry’.
This weekend I had SO much on, the diary was full. And other than a few photos uploaded to Instagram and a heap of tweets, I didn’t really miss Facebook.
I caught up with friends in the flesh.
I showed approval without clicking the virtual thumbs up. I gave them flesh-and-bones double thumbs up, high-fives, drink clinks and kisses.
And while I seem to have oceans of my time back… I know that I might go back to riding Zuckerberg instead of my husband, as it’s still there, that almost-Ikea blue hibernating bear, sitting idle.
But it’s staying that way while I make my life just slightly more unpublished.