Facebook rants aren't my style. I mean, after all, Facebook didn't set out to hurt anyone, so why go off in such a public -- Facebookie -- way? I can understand clearing out the cobwebs, getting whatever it is off your chest, out of your head or away from your person in general, but what makes someone type out all that vitriol and then, rather than be all "Ahhh..now it's out of/off of/away from" and move on from there, rather than pressing the "Post" button once it's out of/off of/away from?
I think I know now.
Perhaps it comes from procrastinating the inevitable until the last minute and you find yourself completing yet, another form for an extra-curricular that you know your fourth-grade daughter is excited about. You realize the only thing standing between her and it is...you completing that form.
And so you pull up the PDF form over your lunch hour, dig out your health insurance card because you know this form is going to ask for the Group Number and Policy Number even though your card only has a series of numbers, none of which are labeled Group or Policy. But you figure you'll just type in all those numbers and let them figure it out, and so you begin typing. Only the computer won't allow you to type in those numbers or anything else. You decide that technology is overrated and print out the form. And that's when the computer shuts down completely.
Suddenly your mind's eye is flooded with your child's big doe-eyes and her excited chatter about this extracurricular, so you try again. Finally, the computer allows you to print the darned thing.
You begin to hand print in teeny, tiny letters and numbers in spaces meant for 9.5 Arial font. And that's when you see them. The boxes. The dreaded demographic boxes who ask "So, exactly what is your daughter anyway? Check one, please." It makes you flashback to your bartending days when an enamored patron asked "What are you?" before even asking your name.
You stuff the flashback down and decide to play along. You glance over your selection: Caucasian, Asian, Black, Native American, Hispanic/Latino...OTHER. That's when you realize your lunch hour's nearly half over and before you know it, you've checked "Other."
And you get mad.
At the form.
At a stupid system that doesn't know the difference between race and ethnicity, and despite all the statistics that point to the "browning" - the mixing - of America, insists on tracking this information anyway.
And then your hands shake at the thought of someone wanting to know the what - and not the who - about your beautiful, talented, loving, sensitive, intelligent child. Your baby.
And with shaking hands, you login to Facebook, type your frustration...and press "Post."
Then, like a three-year-old, you scribble through the Other Box and through the check you just made in it. And you check both boxes.
Over the weekend, you cool off about the whole thing. You blog about it and take your daughter to that extracurricular activity.
And you resolve to stop procrastinating...someday.