I've been twittering for almost a year now - my relationship with it is like one of those really irritating country songs where some woman with warbles on for 4 minutes flat about how horrible her bloke is but she loves him so it must be alright. That sort of Tennessee feminism that stands by your man and turns the other cheek night after night. And all this with a banjo underlay, it makes me crazy.
I can't help hating twitter and simultaneously spending every waking second on it detailing my movements (not those kind, I have standards) and striving to appear witty in 140 characters. It's the ultimate kind of size zero superficial fascism - models stick their fingers down their throats in order to have the body of a 13-year-old boy to get work looking waif-sexy and everyone will love them. Surely twitter is just the lexical equivalent?
Thousands of bloggers have dumped their trade of substance and creativity (and that's got to be myself included, this thing's gone way downhill, although it was never a living) for thin legs and instant love. Are people following me? Am I being mentioned? Am I being retweeted? Did anyone find that last thing funny? It's intellectual neediness, the exact kind that would be first in line to have a go at the physical kind.
I have no high horse here, I'd never be able to get on it. In fact I'm guilty of all kinds of superficiality - I like to twitter in nice shoes. I can judge in 140 characters, it's the kind of thing I'm good at. In fact I can do it in 5 paragraphs, I must be good.
18 minutes ago