After four years of faithful service, my computer is finally fucked. It shuts off for no apparent reason, its keyboard cuts out mid-paper (or mid-Gchat), and its battery is physically expanding like a pimple waiting to pop.
Most infuriating, however, is its ticking time bomb of a mouse. Jumping and pointing and clicking at random, it arbitrarily shoots around the screen like a sugar-loaded six-year-old at Toys-R-Us. It closes my email, ends (or awkwardly begins) videochats, deletes paragraphs upon paragraphs of text, opens programs, closes them, and worst of all, “likes” shit on Facebook.
“[Random High School Acquaintance] second semester senior year waddup waddup!!!!”
“Will Stephen likes this.”
NO I DON’T.
Unlike unlike unlike.
Too late? A notification probably popped up on her Facebook already. Did unliking also get rid of the notification? I don’t know. But even if so, maybe she already saw it. These things are pretty much instant on Facebook now — what’s done is done. Maybe she got an email, depending on her custom settings. Jesus Christ. Alright it’s stopped. The mouse is back to normal. I can browse the internet like a human being for goodness’ sake.
Back to my News Feed.
“[Random Girl I Had A Crush On in Seventh Grade] RIP goldie 1999-2011 best dog ever :(“
“Will Stephen likes this.”
WHOA. WHOA. NO. STOP. STOP. CALM DOWN. Alright.
Calm. Down.
Good.
And BAM BAM BAM all of the sudden I’m on her profile, into her pictures, skimming through at lightning speed, on photo 81 of 864 and counting. I am not touching my computer.
“Will Stephen likes this.”
The photo?! NO I FUCKING DON’T.
First comment. “ur gorgeous sweetie.”
“Will Stephen likes this.”
AH FUCK.
I punch my mouse with a full fist.
I think I’m having a panic attack. I must undo my damage, or at least what I can. I shall never speak of this to anyone.
Now, whenever I log on to Facebook (who am I kidding, I’m not going to stop), my heart beats fast, my palms sweat. My online social life has been jeopardized by my possessed bastard child of a machine; it holds me at its mercy. At any given time, my laptop can arbitrarily affect my relationships, dropping in just a dash of awkwardness to whatever tenuous online connection I may have with any acquaintance, friend, relative, or — God forbid — romantic interest.
Does “liking” a girl’s status mean that I like her? Or do I just “like” her. Maybe I LIKE “like” her? If I really liked her, I don’t think I would “like” her. Right?
But I simply don’t know what I “like” anymore. I’ve lost track; my “likes” have a mind of their own now. But I don’t even know what that means. What kind of a gesture is “liking” something, really? Is it giving approval? Is it confirmation that you have simply read or seen someone’s status update? Is it genuine? Is it sarcastic? Is it none of the above? Is it a substitute for written or verbal communication? Is it the new “Poke”? Who “pokes” anyway? Maybe it means nothing. Maybe accidentally “liking” something just fades into obscurity and gets lost in the white noise of the internet. Or maybe it really is archived forever, waiting to rear its head and screw you over. Maybe accidentally “liking” some idiot former classmate’s status (i.e. “it’s 4:20 somewhere :P”) will fuck up my chances of being President someday. Or maybe saying “fuck” in the YDN will.
Fuck it. Like us all, I must simply accept the given truth that the internet — or my computer — will ultimately eat my soul and everything I hold near to me with it. Along with all 500 million Facebook users, I have signed away my life to Mark Zuckerberg, that evil, all-seeing mastermind. The Sauron to my Frodo. The Emperor Palpatine to my Ewok. The very, very rich, accomplished, very young, wunderkind multi-billionaire to my average college student in a comedy troupe who doesn’t know that much about the internet or why his computer is fucking up or how to cook anything besides pasta and tomato sauce (and some kinds of cereal).
I could try to fix these things. I could try to fix my computer, and my online self along with it.
But, like, whatever.