Today is a sad day readers. A sad day indeed.
Regular readers of this blog may have noticed that I have something of an
obsession with that wondrous creation known as The Twitters. I joke about it,
but it's true. I really do have a, probably more than is healthy, obsession,
with the service.
And I make no apologies for it.
I am, in life, a bit of a hopeless case. I don't do well socially, at all, and
I have major difficulties relating to pretty much anyone on an emotional or
empathetic level. I've talked on here before about how I don't grieve when
people die, about how I fake concern when people tell me their woes, about how
I spend all my time battling the inner voices that tell me that no-one cares
what I think, no-one cares what I do, no-one wants to hear anything I have to
say. It's a constant struggle not to just sit in the corner and stick my
knuckles in my mouth.
Twitter has changed that. It was a slow process, and I certainly didn't expect
it to happen when I signed up, but it has. I care about the people I've met on
there. This is a new feeling for me, but while I like it, I'm well aware that
it's early days for the new me and I could backslide at any time. For now
though, twitter is making me a better person.
Take a look at that list over on the right there; the one that says
'The Best Twitter Has To Offer'; and you'll see a list of some of my
favourite people in the world. And I say that without a hint of
In no particular order;
Charlotte, or La_Diabla as she
insists on calling herself on the twitters, was one of the very first
people on there to encourage me in my stupid attempts at humour. She
actually seems to find me funny, which as insane as that probably makes
her, has had an effect on my own self confidence that I cannot
overstate. I no longer worry that my daft stories about celebrity
encounters and secret missions make me sound stupid, because I know
that at least one person enjoys them. Unless she's a really good liar,
in which case, if you're reading this Charlotte, don't ever start
telling me the truth.
She's also hot as hell, if you'll pardon a shallow moment, which makes
her willingness to tolerate my existence even more baffling, and even
Tamaris is, unless she's perpetrating some kind of elaborate long con on all of twitter, one of the most genuinely sweet
people I think I've ever had the pleasure to talk to. I hope that
doesn't sound as patronising as I fear it may, because I genuinely and
unironically love talking to her; love seeing her get all shocked and
flustered at the merest hint of innuendo and love her Pavlovian need
to tell people off if they swear in tweets. She's just nice, and there isn't enough of that in the world today.
Stephanie doesn't know I exist.
I've spoken to her maybe four times in the 18months or so that I've
followed her on twitter and she's answered probably twice. That doesn't
matter. What matters is that her tweets are honestly some of the most
bizarre, out of nowhere, surreal comments I've ever heard. I'm sure
they make sense to her in the moment, but... What also matters is that
she writes; or wrote, because it's all but inactive these days, which
is a crying shame, one of the funniest blogs I've read. The very blog,
in fact, that I mentioned when I started this one, as having inspired
me to write this. So you have her to blame.
Mike is my beard, whom I throw
in whenever I do lists like this, to break up the constant femaleness,
and disguise the fact that I'm basically listing a bunch of girls young
enough to be my daughter.
He is also a long time supporter of this blog who has, on more than one
occasion, recommended MoaN to others and encouraged me in my writing,
both here and elsewhere. He is good people.
But mainly a beard.
Emily is probably the one that
has the most effect on my life. You'll laugh when I tell you this, but
in my entire life I have been in a pub 4 times. On all bar one of
those occasions, I was dragged kicking and screaming; I do not like
pubs, I do not like crowds of strangers, and I do not like enforced,
and thus fake, camaraderie, especially where drink is involved. All of
those things make me very very nervous.
In almost 15 years of working in a very 'laddish' industry, full of
people who pride themselves on their twin abilities of drinking loads
and loads of alcohol and making raucous fools of themselves in bars, I
have refused to attend pretty much every works related outing, to the
point of telling one person to f*ck off over it. So if any number of
friends, bosses, and even crushes, couldn't get me to go out, what
Going to a stand up comedy night to support someone who was, for all
intents and purposes, a total stranger, that's what. That's how much
power twitter has to make me give a f*ck.
And, because I'm waffling on way more than I intended, I'll just say
that the others on that list are all just as awesome in their own ways
and if you are on twitter, you should absolutely be following each and
every one of them.
So if, sad case that I am, my life has been so enriched by this
wondrous invention, why is today a sad day? I shall tell you. That list
is missing a name. Someone who has been, for the longest time, one of
my absolute favourites, even by these rarefied standards. She (because
you knew it had to be a woman) has been threatening to leave twitter
for a while but always stayed, until now. Her account has been deleted
and she is no more so, it was with heavy heart that today I went into
the bowels of blogger and figured out how to delete her link. I shed a
tear and said a toast, and sent her off into the great beyond known
only as 'a real life'. I would follow her, but it's scary.
Still, at least it prompted me to write this soppy pile of twaddle, eh? Imagine if I hadn't. Doesn't bear thinking about.