Disinclined.
I seem to finally be weaning myself off of social media. I no longer feel a compulsion to share my every thought with 700 odd people on Facebook, some of whom may be buildings or bands. Some of whom are definitely dead. I didn't even bother with my traditional cull of people who couldn't even be arsed to wish me a happy birthday on my birthday, even though there's a birthday section in the corner of the screen, so you can't blame the algorithm this time. One in seven of my Facebook "friends" went to the effort of pressing the automated greeting button. Though, as I say, some of them are dead. But I didn't do the cull. I couldn't be bothered. I'm not even invested enough in this platform to discard haters in a fit of pique, and they're not invested in me enough to wave at me on my birthday. A year ago, I would have got rid of them. Five years ago, definitely. But Facebook has devolved into a friendless wasteland of rolling adverts, sponsored c...
