After a coffee date with a friend on Wednesday, during which I repeatedly told her I wouldn’t join Facebook because I thought it was lame and loserish, I joined Facebook.
I’m not sure why I did it. I didn’t actually think about it. But at some point during my day of boredom at work yesterday, I found myself on the page signing up. The part of the conversation where my friend stressed how much time you can waste on there without realizing must have swayed me subconsciously. Plus I am mildly interested in stalking people I once knew, and of course, like everyone, ex-boyfriends.
I even gave Facebook my real name, despite misgivings. You have to submit a first and last name, as I discovered, and I couldn’t be bothered to invent a fake one.
Once I’d joined, I did a search on people with my last name. It’s an unusual surname – from my expertise in obscure hamlets in the Yorkshire dales, I have deduced that my lineage originated in a swamp in North Yorkshire - and I’d always assumed there were only a handful of us in existence, and all closely related to me. Imagine my shock and horror when I discovered there’s a girl with my exact name – first, middle and last – living it up in London.
It’s like a personal intrusion! Like someone else has my life! A name is so personal – it really is your main source of identification if you think about it – and becomes part of who you are. Especially as I thought I was the only person in the world called that. I spent most of my life (pre-Internet) thinking that my close family were the only ones with our surname, so it’s a shock to discover not only people I’ve never heard of with my last name, but another Sprite, no less!
She could commit crimes and people would think it was me! I wonder if she’s ever done searches on the Internet and found me and had the same thoughts.
She looks a bit like a party animal from her picture. You know, the kind of person who is sozzled and twirling a wine glass in every picture and has about 8,000 ‘friends’, also sozzled, wine-glass carriers. I’m not sure she is up to the responsibility of carrying my name.
It’s freaky, and I’m…troubled.
That’s all. My employers actually gave me some work to do today so I don’t have time to hone and tone this post into the usual perfection.
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2 comments:
but that works both ways, now YOU can go and rob a bank and blame HER.
P.S Send me a few thousand or I'll tell the cops! ;)
The thought had crossed my mind.
I guess I'm more worried that when I go back to England this Christmas I'll find her in my (parents') house living my life, and everyone thinks she's me. Frightening on a primeval level.
Do you remember that film where Sandra Bullock's identity was erased? I think it was called 'The Net'.
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