I grabbed Betsy (trusty Mac) , my guitar and what was left of my pride and the warden opened the door to the sunshine.
It cut like a knife.
I hadn’t seen the sun in THREE WHOLE DAYS.
Facebook jail had turned me into a different woman.
Johnny Cash was right.
I was hardened, jaded. I had aged 20 years.
Some would argue that was actually the kids, but FB jail was a whole new level of isolation.
“What were my crimes?,” you ask…
Was it cussin,’ drunk-messaging or throwing wild Jamberry parties? Maybe some nudity on a live-feed?
No, no no. Those are far too tame.
I have a gift of hyperbole… one I just can’t help. This is something that is carved into me like a ritual branding. I love it. I savor it… but it gets me in trouble. Especially with the social algorithms.
When someone posts about heebie-jeebies (think, rats, bugs, spiders and the like) I have a knee-jerk reaction and blurt out this euphemism on the comments.
It’s rather incendiary.
If you know me and you know what this is, PM me.
Do not… I repeat DO NOT put this in the comments. Evidently, they’ll overlook it in a post, but not on the comments.
And you’ll end up in jail, just like me.
They can throw me out…. BUT THEY CAN’T KEEP ME DOWN!
“And I Ain’t Seen The Sunshine Since I Don’t Know When,
I’m Stuck At Facebook Prison And Time Keeps Draggin’ On.
But Instagram sits waitin’
On Down To post from my phone…”
An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.