I am sat in this dungeon of swelter, sweat and grinding teeth - the computer lab. It is quarter past one and so many are trying so desperately to finish their banal and endlessly pointless work by half past three. I guage that roughly 32% of them will make it. That's a conservative guess, though.
Some 'enchanted evening! Or rather, some enchanted afternoon, it seems to me, as I gaze over the monitor at a sea of Facebook profiles and shell my ears from the mindless machine gun clattering of chubby fingers on keys. It is a warzone, and any minute now, a bomb will fall. Someone, quite quietly, and privately, will notice that that picture they thought condemned to the fordibben tundras of the Yukon has returned with dire vengeance on its lips - captioned so poetically with 'Nikki last night! Well wasted!!!! lol :)' - Cute. Cute joke. Or more horrendously, someone will realise with staid horror that the boy they boned last weekend is secretly a woman/dog/television, and dating Cameron Diaz - or someone less exciting, because of course most people are in this room. The sniper's rifle poised at the back of Glenda and Hilda, waiting to 'confirm' their status as 'It's complicated' - who will find out? Who will care? Unfortunately, the answer to both these questions would seem to be 'absolutely fucking everybody'.
There is a supreme lack of privacy inherent in Facebook which is fundamentally repugnant to me. The ugliest side of this is that refusal to enter its swampy depths renders you a luddite, a recluse, or worse still, a pariah. I feel like I am fighting a swarm of zombified b-movie actors who tell me that once I accept my fate and get dragged kicking and screaming into the world of pretending people actually give a shit about my life - everything will be alright, and everything will be peaceful. I will love Big Brother...erm...Facebook, that is.
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