I am not a techy girl. I didn't have email until after the turn of the century and I refused to order online until I moved to a remote island overseas and it became a necessity. I have sent approximately 15 texts in my life; 12 in the last two weeks. I can barely find my phone because I think it is a nuisance. I wrote my dissertation entirely in pencil before I ever sat down to type. I ignored all Facebook friend requests for years until last December when, kicking and screaming, my friend Kellianna handed me my big girl panties and made me a Facebook account. I sort of got into it, meaning, I checked it every few days and posted something once or twice a week. Maybe.
I'm slowly getting into the turn of the century with this blog and then, a couple of days ago, I tried to access my Facebook account only to find that my account has been cancelled. No warning. No polite email with an explanation. As best as I can figure, Facebook doesn't like pseudonyms. How do they know Jane Austen wasn't my real name? I have very legitimate reasons for not using my real name. This is like the digital equivalent of being flipped the bird. I'm confident I can withstand the rejection and I'm not going to re-do my account. To my whopping total of 29 Facebook friends, this is your explanation as to why I no longer exist. I didn't drop of a mountain cliff or fall into Flathead Lake. I've just been rejected by the world's largest social networking site. After I'm done crying perhaps I'll figure out a way to write my blog with a pencil!