Sabbatical From Facebook

I crow-barred myself apart from Facebook since the beginning of January.

facebookdownthumbI did this primarily because it was a distraction in trying to get another goal accomplished which I have set for myself before my 50th birthday. That goal, which is in progress, should be completed by that time with a bit of luck and hard work. More to follow on that.

However, when I extricated myself from my Facebook news feed, I didn’t think it would be that difficult. I was wrong.

Dead wrong.



I missed hanging out online with my Facebook friends to find out what’s going on with their lives. I found out through an email that one of my uncles had a pace-maker put in. I found out through another email my cousin had to have a stint put in one of her arteries. I have no idea what else I’ve missed, but after being off of Facebook for two months now (I will have a reunion with my news feed at the end of March), it’s not as bothersome, like a bad rash, as it was when I initially started.

It’s kind of like smoking. You try to kick the habit of checking online periodically. Some people succeed, others fail. I did have to go onto Facebook for two occasions. One was to show the shadowbox of my dog, Sarge, who passed away on January 2nd. The other was to let my former co-workers know of the passing of a good friend and fellow co-worker.

As you can see, both of my reasons were not very happy ones, but were required to break my sabbatical for those two brief moments. Otherwise, I have remained strong willed to stay true to a promise I have made for myself.

What I did discover was how much more time I had on my hands without any type of Facebook interference. While mourning the loss of my dog, I watched the movie, “Gravity.” In all seriousness,  I gravityshould have known better. Having a vertigo problem with vestibular dysfunction made the movie hard to watch at times. Sandra Bullock’s spinning on my TV screen made me cover my eyes more than once. The same can be said for that fast image swap commercial of the Cosmopolitan Hotel in Las Vegas. I just can’t look at it without going into a head spin.

I bought my son a new/used car. This was an interesting experience. His old car was junked. It needed repairs that were far too expensive than what the car was worth. We handed the title over to the mechanic who used it for parts and in partial payment for checking out the car to try to repair it. As  my son was barraging  his father (my ex-husband, Mike), and me at least two dozen links of cars (including a Lamborghini) during the month of January, I was ready to hoist his ass into outer space to spend some quiet time with George Clooney. He finally reduced the car choices down to two, based on his parent’s criteria.  My ex-husband, who I haven’t seen in a few years, came in from Ohio to go car shopping with me. My kid ended up with a great used car with only 26,000 miles on it — it’s nicer than mine.

I played with my dogs more and they now demand kisses and treats every hour — on the hour, or they start tapping their paws like a businessman taps his watch. I think they’re a little spoiled.

We decided to replace Sarge’s huge void with another puppy. Our household was always built for three dogs. We love German Shepherds and will get another one. I hear the newest litter of puppies are germanshepherdpupsbig, roly-poly coats with huge heads. And, even though I have trouble hearing, I insist on training him as far as God’s willing to allow me to take him. He came from a good set of parents, so I have every expectation that he will be a great dog. I’d really like to try agility training. Not me — the dog. We’ll see them for the first time tomorrow; bringing the other two dogs with us to get their approval. It’s normally chaos, but it’s fun. Wouldn’t you want to sit on the floor while seven big balls of fur were crawling all over you? I would, and have! It’s a big dose of happiness and laughter. I did learn something about picking out a puppy: The puppy picks you, not the other way around. Trust me, I’ve done this A LOT. We are open for dog names, so let me know if you have any good ones for a male German Shepherd. Our ideas so far are Otto or Gunther. Anyone? Buehler?

I have also become an expert at picking up frozen dog poop. Every. Single. Day. How does one pick up frozen dog poop? You kick it with your industrial strength snow boot to loosen it from the snow and then use plastic bags. Innovation at its finest.

I filed my taxes. I’m getting enough money back to buy a tank of gas. I’m not sure if I should cry or be grateful.

I bought a paper towel dispenser.  I know, the riveting suspense is killing you, isn’t it?

I celebrated my wedding anniversary while my husband was in bed with the flu. While he was coughing up a lung, I was downing an Old Fashioned. Happy Anniversary, Honey!

I spent Valentine’s Day at the hospital while my husband was getting a colonoscopy. No shit. I think my husband is avoiding momentous occasions by scheduling flu-like symptoms and hospital visits.

I cooked more. I’m not so certain if my husband appreciated all the new Pinterest recipes I’ve been trying on him, but at least I’m actually cooking from my Pinterest recipe board!

I lost twenty pounds. Weight training makes a huge difference. Carrying my dogs up and down the stairs isn’t so fun for them, but it’s a hell of a workout for me. Now, if I can just convince my one dog, Crusher, to wear a 35 lb. weight around his neck…

I cleaned my floor of dog hair about 354 times — and counting.

I decided that I wanted to take the Siberian Express as a vacation after seeing a segment on the Olympics, only to find out it was SUPER expensive. Dream-slayer strikes again.

I shoveled the driveway 15 times — OK — Dave has snow-plowed the driveway fifteen times. I’m not allowed to use the snow-blower because I’ll lose a limb, and then how would I be able to cook those delicious meals I’ve pinned onto my Pinterest recipe board?

I fell flat on my ass from hidden ice under snow on our driveway. I hit my head on the asphalt but it didn’t crack open. My husband was disappointed there was no blood shed. I was disappointed the ice didn’t crack to make it easier to get off the damn driveway. I mean, I have a pretty hard head.

My husband bought a soft top Jeep. C’mon summer! It’s an old school Jeep — 2006. She’s a champ and she’s perfect. Now when we drive around with the top and doors off, Dave can nonchalantly push me out of the car when he makes a sharp turn. Note to self: Wear a seat belt at all times.



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