Faceless on Facebook

I done been taken to task by my Mama for not posting enough. I can't argue. I confess, I can't quite figure out how to handle the blog, Facebook, email -- all these things I want to do to keep in touch with people and respond to what they've written, without falling into another legalistic situation where it becomes all pressurized (the pressure coming from myself).

I wouldn't even have a Facebook page if I hadn't been invited to join a group there. I don't think my profile is complete. I definitely don't have a picture up. And I might not have specified my gender, because it seems to think I'm a man. It has been nice to be found by people I haven't been in touch with for years, so that's something cool. I usually accept the games and add-ons people send me, which means that, among other things, I'm a knighted hottie werewolf with the power to freeze people and the beginnings of a vegetable patch that will end global warming.

I should know better than to make predictions about future diligence, but I sometimes think I'd be better at keeping up with online communication if I didn't spend all my working hours in front of a computer, and I wonder if you all would hear more from me if I had work that suited me better. There are vague memories bouncing around my head of my time as a musician, when email was something I looked forward to, and wasn't merely a desperate distraction from, uh, work-related emails. Of course, when I land my dream career, if I'm still just as delinquent as ever, you'll know it's not the job at all; it's just me.

Speaking of which, I've amended by hoped-for job description: Rock-Star Actress Comedian Writer Princess. That last item is new. A bit different from the others in that one must marry into it, but it seems like the surest way to end up living in a castle. So if you run into any Scottish dudes (or lads, I should say) of royal lineage, let me know.

Just don't send them to my Facebook page.