I deactivated. I survived.
When I was a kid, I had an overwhelming desire to pull the school fire alarm. Even now, when I see that little red box on the wall I find myself resisting the temptation. The only thing stopping me is the grownup knowledge that the consequences outweigh the thrill.
Instead, I decided to press the deactivation button on my Twitter account. Since my commitment to Twitter has never been strong, deciding to break-up wasn’t difficult.
Twitter, on the other hand, was a bit reluctant to let me go – probing me with questions like a jilted lover. “Is this goodbye? Are you sure you won’t reconsider? Was it something we said?" Warning me that my actions would be final. Wow, I didn't realize how much Twitter cared. Having been on the receiving end of breakup more than once, I felt Twitter's pain.
“It’s me, not you,” I said to that cute little crying blue bird as I scanned the deactivation page. As not to add insult to injury, I refrained from saying what I really felt, “I’m just not that into you” and quickly hit the button.
I was bit disappointed. As soon as pressed the button it still wasn’t over. Before I could actually deactivate, I had to put in my password one last time. Talk about anticlimactic. The thrill was gone and soon was my Twitter account.
