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…”