I created a Facebook “Page”.
“Pages” make me cringe. You can find pages about anything and everything. Amoeba’s, to “the guy at home in his underwear”, to Klingon starships. No shit. Go look.
This, to me (originally), would weaken the plausibility of having a valid and true educational resource.
I was hesitant, yes, but I also know how much power I have when *I* click “Like” on a page that does have value to me. Pages that have links to other Pages. Pages that make me laugh. Pages that teach me things (omg I *have* to learn things…from factoids to academia… inquiring minds NEED to KNOW!). Pages that make me think. Pages that make me formulate my own thoughts and opinions about things of which I’d previously had no knowledge whatsoever.
I also then began to think, “I have been working my arse off making sure I uphold a good name and be seen as worthy in the eyes of my community. You’re friggin’ right people will take my Page for the value that it contains.”
I made this page to reflect this blog. I also made this page to post all of the links, hints, tips, tricks, holy-crap-on-a-cracker kind of things I find related to all that is wrong with me. It’s a trip down Spoonie-ville lane on the short bus to Funky Town.
It is MY Page.
It is NOT, however, ME.
[enter awesomely indescribable music]
(did I even spell “indescribable” right? It doesn’tlook right. It looks funny. Nope, it’s right. Just Googled it. Weird.)
No, my Page does not define who *I* am. Oh yes! HELLS yes!! It IS most very certainly a part of who I am. A very critical (no pun intended) part of me. But it is most very certainly NOT:
A mother of five who tries to balance working, managing a household, planning a wedding, kicking ass, and other Superhero-type abilities. A woman who loves all things Steampunk and Doctor Who and tries to learn how to play “Fallout 3” so that her oldest son thinks she’s just the schizzle. A woman who cries at Barbie movies (shut. up.) but who doesn’t watch chick flicks. A woman who secretly dreams of growing vegetables in a garden (I tend to kill flora. And goldfish. Damn.) and is a closet girlie-girl at heart.
THAT, my friends, is also what makes me…”me”. So to continuously post on my own personal wall seems, to me anyways, to be letting one part of me, that I’m aggressively trying to advocate on the behalf of a whole lotta people (that’s the best I could come up with, I’m so tired, (o.O)!) overshadow the “me” of “ME.”
Essentially, not everyone is going to care what cause I’m blathering on about, so I’ve created an outlet within which I can better accomplish and focus this task.
(I really wish I’d just thought of that about 2.2 minutes ago…kind of limited in my typing abilities and brain function today *headdesk*)
So. I did. And already? Seriously? I feel much “muchier”. I have found my “muchness.” I have some semblance of “Me” back to where it belongs.
The absolute worst case, I think (it can happen), is that people would start to automatically associate all things “Lupus” and “Fibro” and “Diabetes” with “Me”…to the extent that they would slowly start pulling away in the assumption (which really would make an ass out of them…but it’s human nature, regardless) that those are all, and would be all, that I would talk about should we hook up for some well needed java. Or BBQ. (omg I LOVE my new BBQ!! FH made grilled asparagus wrapped with prosciutto and drizzled with wild garlic infused olive oil…but I digress….).
No, this is NOT all I talk about.
This is all that I research about. Big difference.
And now? Now no one will get the two confused. :o)
We’re two peas in a pod, me and my Page. The Ben & Jerry of Lupus. The peanut butter and jelly of Fibro. Diabetes can take a flying hike because I can’t eat the damned Ben & Jerry’s and the sugar-free jelly is so bloody expensive I don’t even bother.