Exposing my dirty red underbelly

I'm still wallowing in the messy bog of social media. A muscle in my left cheek twitches whenever I open Facebook. I've stayed away for several days. Facebook is like a creepy stalker boyfriend, lurking under my window, trying to see inside my pantie drawer. My friends are laughing at me. My Facebook friends, that is. Gives a whole new meaning to the word friend. And the word like. Like, will you like what I just said on Facebook? Can this be happening?

To make my brain more insane, I just created another online persona. After several hours farting around with formats, I realized the best way to invite faculty to participate in my dissertation project is to post the invitation on a blog. So I created a new blog. With a new identity. And a photo of the real me, so people can see my snarky grin and judge me trustworthy. Or not.

I have new respect for authors who write under different pseudonyms. And actors who play multiple roles in one production. And don't forget spies, who (I presume) change identities like the rest of us change underwear. How do they keep track of who they are on any given day? My brain is whirling.

Who am I? Who am I now? Am I anonymous, or am I now displaying my dirty red underbelly for the entire world to see and comment on? What if I make a mistake and reveal my identity? Once something is posted online, there's no getting it back. All the stupid cartoons I posted on Facebook to launch my fledgling company page will haunt me forever, even if I delete them in a frenzy of misgivings. Just like all the emails I sent to and from co-workers at my former job will no doubt remain on a server somewhere for all eternity. What a waste of space.

Speaking of former jobs, my indefatigable naturopath, Dr. Tony, decreed that I was hanging on to old resentments, and recommended I submit to a colonic. I had to look up the word. I knew it had something to do with colons, but omigod. How mortifying. Is he serious? How disgusting. Has he ever had one himself? I bet not! How embarrassing. Certainly I can't tell anyone about this! Wait, what? Whoops, did I just tell the world I'm considering sending my lower intestine to the digestive equivalent of a car wash?

See, that is what I'm talking about. I don't know what I'm talking about! Or who I am when I'm saying it! There's a name for this, probably, beyond just insane, nuts, or crazy. Self-obsessed, maybe?