The Power of Delete

Disclosure – I’m going to sound like an asshole.

If you don’t like people sounding like/being assholes, then this think-piece is not for you. Maybe just sit this one out and return tomorrow when I discuss how the queen (I refuse to capitalise the q) is super poor now.

I remember when Facebook stormed into our lives. We all flocked to the loving embrace of Mark Zuckerberg and his sweet new clubhouse. Yeah, I poked, was poked and rejected game/page invites with the very best of them. I must say, I haven’t lost any of that charm. I’m still rejecting and ignoring stupid requests like a pro.

What I didn’t do very well was refrain from gathering friends like they were redeemable coupons. I accepted and added everybody. Hell, I even accepted a friend request from a woman who shares the same last name as me. We’re not related, but I guess she thinks that we are. She looked nice enough, so I adopted her as a fake auntie (cousin?), and now she’s in my life – totally normal.

For some reason, I added people I loathed in my younger years. I assumed that these morons had changed and grown into decent human beings, despite being genuine pricks back in the day. So, through Facebook they watched me at the beach (weird), witnessed my wedding and drooled at the many self-indulgent pictures I’ve posted of food (yeah, I’m one of those people). I caught the occasional glimpse into their lives and for the longest time I mocked, lambasted and scoffed at them. I disliked their words and actions just as much as I did the first time we were thrown into the same pool.

Nothing ever changes. So I decided to delete them.

One by one, I ‘unfriended’ people I’d foolishly allowed back into my life. In just a few short moments, I unfriended 20-30 chumps. I’m not a petty person, but seeing these twits fall off my map warmed the cockles of my heart. The problem is that I’ve become so addicted to the rush of hunting these unwitting ‘victims’ that now I’m running out of fresh blood. So I’ve decided to ‘ration’ out the deletions in order to prolong the magic. Instead of mass deletions, I pick people off in groups of 2 or 3 so I still get my fix. Just this afternoon I rewarded myself for a good sesh at work by deleting a jackass from my past. It felt great and I was as peppy as hell during the afternoon. Look, I’m no egomaniac and I don’t believe for a second that they would even notice my absence – but I don’t care. It’s not as if I’ve posted one of those passive aggressive messages on Facebook in which I tell of the exodus and warn of more bloodshed. This is just about me and the somewhat perverse pleasure I’m getting out of exercising the same discretion I exercise in the real world. You know, choosing who I do and don’t associate with.

Who needs drugs/skydiving/tattoos when you have a delete button? It’s the ultimate rush.

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