Losing brain cells to the social media time suck

The word has come down from on high (Salem): I am now officially self-employed. How weird to go from unemployed to self-employed. I guess you can now call me a job creator. I made a job for myself. I think I should go on strike. This job doesn't pay sh--t. And I'm not sure I get along with the boss.

But here I am, a solopreneur, a little sooner than I expected, but excited nonetheless. However, if I want to receive assistance from the State of Oregon, I must “work” at this new job at least 40 hours a week. Forty hours! They obviously don't know I am also trying to finish my doctorate. Well, they do know, because I told them on the application form, but they obviously don't care. They apparently also don't know that I am trying to catch up on the sleep I lost over the past ten years of split shifts. They just want me off the dole ASAP. I want that, too, I really do. I want this little one-person business to put down some roots and grow.

What am I selling? Thanks for asking. I'm not sure yet. (That sounds promising, doesn't it?) Here's what I know: it's something to do with marketing research consulting. Soon I will send a message in a bottle out to the universe (also known as a survey) to ask small business owners what they know about marketing research, if they use it, if they would pay someone to do it for them, and how much would they pay. From the responses, I anticipate gleaning some insight into what to do next.

In the meantime, I'm.... I guess you could say I'm building infrastructure. I opened a post office box today, and a business checking account at the local credit union. I made business cards. I started my business plan. And I revived my old Facebook account and attached a Page for my new business. Then I got sucked down the invisible black hole of social media. When I clawed my way out, it was after 10:00 pm. Wha—? Who knew Facebook was such a delirious time suck? Why didn't anyone tell me! I'm like Rip Van Winkle, I'm ninety now, I've lost all my brain cells and my fingers are crumbling bony sticks. What in tarnation!? Why, it's the devil's invention, I tell you. Well, I don't believe in the devil, so how about it's a scrawny pimply-faced multi-gazillionaire pipsqueak's invention. Why, I oughta...

I am embarrassed to even mention this topic. I know I've cursed social media time and again in this blog, or if I didn't, I meant to. Curse you, Facebook! Curse you, LinkedIn! The last thing the maniacally introverted Chronic Malcontent wants to do is open her door to the entire world and say howdy, come on in. Oh Lord Kumbaya. Seriously? This is how people spend their time? Why don't they just shove a vacuum cleaner into their ear and let it rip?

My vehement reaction invites introspection. That sounds like something my friend Valentina would say. I think I know what's up. Facebook is my shadow. Facebook is forcing—no, let's say Facebook is encouraging me, inviting me, offering me the opportunity—to let the world know me, and that does not come easily to a rabid snarling introvert. Voluntarily opening my metaphorical door to strangers makes my skin crawl. For someone as self-obsessed as me, you would think I'd be thrilled to get some extra attention. Nope. No thanks. Introversion is one rabbit hole I can slide down forever if I'm not careful. I'd call it a progressive illness if I wouldn't immediately feel compelled to start a Twelve Step program about it. Introverts Anonymous.

Slowly my path comes clear. The only way through this mental minefield is to focus on service. Service. My north star. Service. To imagine my business providing value, to picture myself being of service to happy clients, to recognize I am bringing something good into the world. Ommmmm. That's better. The heavy knot of fear in my chest starts to release its stranglehold around my skittery heart. I can breathe again. That was close. Time to turn off the computer and retreat behind the flimsy sheltering walls of the Love Shack. Take that, Facebook.