I love Twitter. It’s fun to read little snippets of people’s lives. But they’re just that, snippets, and sometimes a snippet just isn’t enough.
One of the people I follow is someone I will never meet and probably wouldn’t like in person, but her tweets are so sarcastic and bitter that I can’t resist. Raised as I was on sarcasm and bitterness, it’s like mother’s milk to me and this chick is definitely sarcastic and bitter (then again, maybe she’s not, but she sure comes across that way). I’d love to go to lunch with her and find out what the heck is going on with the job situation she has been tweeting about for two weeks.
Another person I follow is just super smart and funny…I found his tweets through Facebook and actually tracked him down to follow him on Twitter. And of course, I follow my husband and daughter.
Alex, I know you read this blog and I hope this entry will not put you into a coma of angst. I’ve survived some fairly brutal LiveJournal entries without bursting into flames, so I’m trusting you’ll take this in stride. Or talk to me about it, one or the other.
Following Alex is a mixed bag. I love tweets where she’s ecstatic about a great test score or enjoying a beautiful day or even just afinding a good parking space. But it is sometimes a little distressing, as when she tweets “Please Goldie just get me home from schoool.” What does this mean? Is Goldie (her car) giving her serious trouble or is she just running out of gas? Has it been such a rotten day that she’s praying for autopilot? Rather than providing any insight, this tweet just leaves me worried.
This morning I read a tweet saying that she must get better about asking for help because her Dad and I were pretty cool when she asked for help yesterday. Well, Duh. Duh de effing duh. I mean, good on us for being so cool and all but WTF have we spent the past year doing? Have we ever NOT helped? Just as Alex nearly always steps up to help me when she knows what it is I need, we will always help her when we know what it is she needs. That’s what parents do, isn’t it? For pity’s sake, we’ve spent the past year practically begging to be allowed to help and feeling rebuffed and intrusive.
Twitter. It’s like a peek inside a slightly opened door. The question is, how far can the door be opened, and who is responsible for opening it? Whose door is it, anyway? Which tweets of mine are driving someone nuts right now? How can 140 characters be so complicated?