I am addicted to Facebook.
I wait for the dinner dishes to be done before curling up on the sofa with my iPad and logging in. It’s my reward for whatever I’ve accomplished that day, whether it be a 100 pages of edits, or 1,000 words added to my WIP.
(Or, if in a housewifely mood, a basket of clothes ironed or the kitchen floor mopped and waxed.)
I can spend my evening laughing at political cartoons, seeing photos of nephews and nieces who live across the continent, or just looking at funny cat videos.
I learn what my son thinks of a current scandal and share a grandson’s triumph in a band competition.
There are beautiful pictures of animals and birds, ice sculptures, and scenery beyond imagining.
I read stories of people who have triumphed over horrendous odds, and stories of courage shown by “ordinary” folks like you and me.
I skip over the recipes (sorry, to those who post them) and fashion. Not interested, but that doesn’t matter, because there is so much more.
I appreciate the friends who post these nuggets of information or just plain amusement. I’m happy that they feel compelled to reach out and share what makes them laugh, gasp, and yes, even cry.
I know many people who sneer at the very idea of Facebook, and swear they would never be a part of it.
I think they are missing something.
It has made my world richer. And let’s face it, it beats the current offerings on commercial television.