First, a disclaimer – this post is ridiculous, because its form makes it something of a paradox. There isn’t much I can do about that, really, because I choose to use a blog as my method of writing this, but, well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I am aware, very aware, of the ‘pot… meet kettle’ possibilities inherent.

So, here’s the thing: I have a very ambiguous relationship with things like Twitter and Facebook. I use both, but I do so largely out of boredom; if I’ve been particularly active on either, then you know it’s probably because I’ve got something large and dull on which I should be working (whether that’s housework, DIY in the extension, or freelance editty stuff [and yes, that is the correct professional term, thankyouverymuch]), or possibly because the world as we know it has ceased to exist, and I have run out of such things with which to occupy myself. Clearly that latter is deeply unlikely, but, well, one can dream, right? Anyway, the thing that irks me about things like Twitter and Facebook is that they seem to me to erode ‘proper’ social interaction. I know, I know: pretentious alert! sound the siren! But seriously – I actually mean it. And yes – I am a hypocrit for using them, then; being a hypocrit doesn’t mean I’m also wrong, though.

See, with Twitter, your status is a condensed 200-odd characters long – it’s all about the moment, the instant, what you’re doing at that precise second, and so, by its very nature, it’s out of date very quickly, and thus time to move on. In a way, I like that: you get snapshots of people’s lives that you otherwise wouldn’t have, which can be nice if you have friends in far-flung locations and you don’t get chance to see that daily-living-what-shall-I-have-on-my-sandwiches-style stuff. But if you’re anything like me, it can also mean that you spend a lot of little bursts of time updating your status. And your Facebook page. And maybe adding a link here, and a nudge there. And then you realise that if you added up all that time spent nudging, statusing, and generally buggering about in an utterly non-productive manner, you’ve probably got a good couple of hours that you didn’t think existed. And that’s where my gripe comes in. I have several good friends who use Facebook and Twitter religiously. It’s lovely to know what they’re up to, and I enjoy seeing pictures of their latest jaunts and whatnot, but I still miss actually connecting with them at a level which isn’t easily translated into one sentence. It’s funny to think of email as old-fashioned, but it seems that way, when you find you haven’t actually sat down and written a decent-length email to so-and-so for months, because it’s easier to just hit ‘post’ on someone’s wall, or @so-and-so on Twitter. There’s a loveliness about that instant connection, for sure, but there’s no sense of deeper communication. For me, there’s still something missing.

I’m thinking of deleting my Twitter account, for the second time. When I wrote as Kitchen Witch over at the now-newly-formed Journalspace, I used Twitter briefly, but the flirtation died because my PhD was in its death-throes and making one hell of a fuss about its impending completion; this time around, I think Twitter and I simply aren’t suited. I appear to be increasingly drawn, ironically for one who has been blogging for about five years, to the slower pace of actual conversation, of letter-writing, of parcel-sending. Perhaps it’s having a small person about the place; I am aware of those little eyes, saucer-like, watching that odd little white box that Mama is tap-tap-tappitty-tapping on, and I am conscious that, among the very few things that the witchling needs, my attention – undivided, amongst the chaos of daily chores, hens, DIY, proofreading and whatnot, for at least some of the time – is near the top of the list. When I have the most to do, my procrastination tendencies are at their strongest; Twitter and other Web 2.0 creatures offer easy distraction, but the penalty for me is a constant sense of failure, of having given in when I should simply have pulled my finger out and done whatever it is that I know I should really be doing.

[Of course, the other side of this is that I have been lucky enough to 'meet' people with whom I share a real sense of deep and abiding friendship. Ms. Llama and I met via the interweb in about 1998, and Ally and I have spent many a happy hour lusting after new breeds of chickens while discussing whether or not one could build a house out of Weetabix. We met up with HWz and his lovely family for a walk round Riverford Farm, home of all things box-scheme, back in October of last year, and he was once foolish enough to volunteer to help out with our extension, which couldn't have been built without the help of Lovely David. So, I'm aware of the contradictions in my feelings, but that doesn't make them go away!]