I log onto Facebook, something I do about weekly these days. This, at least, is good because Facebook doubles as a waste of time and a network with no real content. Not that this journal has any.
Moving on. I log in, and I notice all these strange names on my news feed. The first names are familiar. The last names are not. "Who on earth are these people?" I wonder. So I click the link on their names and skim their profile.
Yup. There it is.
Relationship status: Married to Some Person
And then it hit me.
Everyone around me is getting married. For the moment we'll ignore the fact that I barely knew quite a few of these people (with the exception of one person I worked with last summer, whose fiancé I also happened to meet then). Perhaps it's the late-life lover in me, perhaps it's the inner drive, or maybe it's the lack of relationship experience that hardened my heart until I turned into a heartless bitch. Seeing people marry at my age or younger (I'm 21, for Godel's sake!) just freaks me out. I can hardly manage my own affairs. Adding another person is almost out of the question, but is lurking on the surface at the moment.
For some reason that made me think of the n-body problem.
Just to make this a Facebook-filled entry, I now have a quote (anonymous, natch) over at the Overheard at Agnes Facebook group. Take a guess at which one if you want. Yes, you'll have to have an account, log in, yada yada. This is why I don't like closed networks, and this is why Facebook can weedle so much information out of its users. They--I mean, we--feel safe there, as if no one can touch them under the lock of a password.
Four more days. Can it be Saturday now?