What was I doing?

Twitdelete

Twitter was an interesting experiment. I deleted my profile at 11.04 this morning*, exactly 24 hours after opening it, having posted 27 updates of less than 140 characters each, including one about this morning’s breakfast, which seemed in the spirit of Twitter. There is no snobbery in my decision – I had no concrete plans to stay long, but entered it with good intentions and not to prove a point. Better to experience something and reject it than reject it out of hand.

It’s clear that tons of people I know and respect use it, and use it all the time, morning and night, probably the same ones who maintain their own FaceBook page and have an iPhone or similar, which seems to be the device from which most people “update” from. Hey, fair play, it gave me something to do yesterday when I couldn’t think of anything to write and began to doubt that I would ever write again (I did); and I was amazed by how quickly my “followers” multiplied without me lifting a finger, but I had nothing interesting to tell anybody, and I can read what Stephen Fry writes without having a profile on Twitter myself. (I doubt I will, by the way. In the last 24 hours, he’s been filming an episode of Bones and missed his lunch which made him crotchety.) My own personal opinion is that Twitter is a passing fad for stalkers, narcissists and people who talk to themselves. I am all three of those things, which is why I am confident that I am correct.

I would apologise to all those nice people who opted to “follow” me and now feel betrayed and bereft, but I think they’ll get over it. (Special thanks to RickyBee, who was my last “follower” before I shut down.)

*Actually it was 11.06 by the time I actually confirmed it, so not as anally-retentive as you thought.

Twitfinal

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