In Which our protagonist freaks out about the internet.

MY FACEBOOK
What the hell did I get myself into? It's like the social fields of a high school that's been shifted into an accelerated time frame with… with little gardens! Little self-propagating gardens! And every time you edit your details it tells everyone you know! And it's fucking creepy! And it's popular as fuck! Why is it popular as fuck? When did it become trendy to give away all the details of your life as you live it?

There is a level of automation present in this site that makes me want to run screaming into the hands of the Amish. And yet I can't stop tweaking it. The Book of Faces has my face now. I keep searching through its pages to accumulate more fandoms, more groups, more… things. Why? Why must I attempt to model my brain out in a blatantly-public digital format? Is it part of some search for myself? The idea that, once I have my inner workings laid out like the guts of an ailing Buick, I can fix it? Is the whole thing just an attempt to exploit the urgings of cargo culture?

What the hell.