Someone
once told me I had a universe inside of me.
The
logic was simple: all one has to do is rub one’s eyes and, voila, a
universe appears behind one’s eyelids.
I
guess this is supposed to make me feel important.
Unfortunately,
even if there is a universe inside of me, it doesn’t mean the
inhabitants of the universe like me. They could be imaginary, which
means they could feel toward me whatever I wanted them to, but
getting involved in imaginary friendships is socially unacceptable in
the public life of a 22 year old.
As
Wait but Why pointed out concerning how to be insufferable on
Facebook, most people have about 10 to 15 people who love them. Lucky
ones perhaps push 30. By this, we’re talking seriously care about
what you’re eating for lunch type people. Most of the universe
doesn’t care that much about you.
It
has been a longstanding opinion of mine that we can only have up to 5
favorite things. After that, any additional things either push away
the ones we had previously loved, or the new things are themselves
neglected. This works with children’s toys, as no matter how many
toys a child has, they generally have 1-5 favorites, and they become
frustrated when they want to have more favorites, but there isn’t
enough room, so one gets forgotten. This works with pets. I lived on
a farm with 200 goats. I liked them all, but there were 3 that were
my favorites. I kept trying to add more to my favorites list, but
all that happened is I replaced an old favorite for a new one.
It’s
difficult to have more than 5 really good friends too. Not
impossible, but one simply runs out of time to devote to more
favorites than this. So one has many shallow friendships. That’s
fine. It simply means that just because I’m on your Facebook
friends list, doesn’t mean we talk much.
But
then you post something like “I would stay up all night to talk a
friend out of suicide.” Well, isn’t that a beautiful sentiment.
It’s like saying, “I want you to interrupt my sleep so that I can
work my magic and reassure you that you’re loved so you won’t
want to leave this dirty world tonight.”
I’m
not upset with you for posting this, but you do realize that if you
had stayed up all night talking about homework, dating, family stuff,
movies, or any of the mundane things that go on in life sometimes,
maybe I wouldn’t be on the verge of believing that no one cares
about my life? I’m not going to call you, mysterious Facebook
poster, because if you didn’t care about my life before it
mattered, then you don’t really believe that my life matters.
You
see, when I’m about to commit suicide and I’m going through my
phone wondering if I should call someone, the first person my cursor
stops on is the one who went with me at midnight to get pizza for no
reason. The next is the person who picked me up when the bus was late
and it was raining. The next is the person who offered to buy me
lunch for no reason. Finally, there’s the one who surprised me with
a thinking of you card. You, Facebook poster, I consider briefly, but
I doubt you’d want to be bothered at 3AM. You’ve never answered
me when I’ve called at noon…
If
you were living in my imaginary universe, I would put you on a planet
with the people you actually stay up late chatting with, because they
need you.
I
would also get myself a full-time massage therapist who charges
nothing, because, heck, this is my universe.
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