I like to witness the reality of others.
This isn’t a secret.
Misfortune, embarrassment, confusion.
It’s a terrible thing to admit, and I’m sure one day karma will bite me in the ass for it, but there you go.
It’s one of the reasons I like Twitter so much (you should totally Twitter, it’s amazing and wonderful. @emilysteen), because OH MY GOD, people will say anything when it’s just a sentence or two.
Facebook is pretty much the same way. I try and keep my friends kind of pruned and personal, but sometimes I just cannot resist clicking the “accept” button when I get a friend request from someone who I suspect is prone to overshare or routinely embarrass themselves.
Like the chick from high school who put up a picture from an afternoon in the pool, and while the pic (see what I did there? Pic. That’s young folk interwebs talk) was obviously supposed to be of her kid, most of the frame was taken up by her stretched-out-in-front-of-her swimsuit bare legs. The picture was awkward. To be nice.
Or the one girl who talks about every bodily function she has, and posts pictures of herself on the regular, detailing her (horribly delightful) outfit choice.
Sweet Lady Propane, the things people release into the information superhighway.
I know I should focus my attention on wholesome, helpful things.
Recipes, knitting patterns, Bible verses.
But then a friend request comes through from that one guy who used to spend every high school party in the dryer.