In theory, I don’t mind my old stuff.
It was who I was. Looking at it, I can presumably see improvement.
Yesterday, I went off and deleted almost every post on my old Facebook account.
I hadn’t posted there since 2008. That’s some old stuff.
And it was all awful.
Just terribly, terrible stuff.
As a rule one sentence, set up sort of like this:
Is going to write something that humiliated him later in life.
I no doubt thought I was being funny at the time. Problem? None of it was!
It was the most awful things I’d ever written. Well, except for that one story I wrote for this site that I never posted. But that one was intentional.
I now am literally afraid to go look at the older posts on this site. I am seriously considering making the archive private to protect my own sanity.
And why did I even go back to Facebook? I got my first friend signup in ages from someone from work I really, really, really don’t want seeing that crap.
Has she already, I wonder? Has she since lost what little respect for me she had?
Damned if I know. I might never know.
My only hope is that she’s been too busy to hit Facebook.
The way this year’s been treating me, she made time to look shortly after friending me.
It can’t be helped, it can’t be cured. I’m just going to obsess over it for the rest of my life like I do every other stupid, stupid, stupid thing I do.
My God! Why’d I post so much on Facebook?! Who does that?
For the record, this post is written in jest. Not enough in jest for my tastes, but still. Still.
Mentioning I was on Facebook to her seemed like such a good idea at the time, too.