The death of social media and why I don’t surf

Finally feeling slightly better. After a day of cold medicine and duvet time, I feel only slightly human.

Sorry for the lack of post yesterday, but ended up leaving work early and crawling into bed, but not before the usual Monday drama…which actually started on Sunday night.

I was woken to my phone ringing at 2am and I thought it was HP (as he wasn’t home when I got in), and it wasn’t. It was Sarah. Screaming. She was yelling that I never got over her and Pete, and that’s why I sent him to Canada.

1) I am so over she and Pete.
2) The last time I talked to her, she was over Pete.
3) She told me to send him to Canada.
4) That was like over a week ago. Why is she just now having a hissy about it? Like didn’t she notice he was gone before now?

I didn’t say these things. I just hung-up. That’s also when I saw that I had gotten a text from HP who said that he went to Arbroath to go surfing and he was staying the night with someone from his office because they’d been surfing.

HP I did text back. And I did so in numerical order:

1)When have you ever surfed?
2) When have you ever done anything outdoorsy?
3) Don’t you have to work in the morning?

I should have never texted him, because his reply was in numerical order:

1) I surfed today. Or tried to but fell in the sea mostly.
2) I do outdoorsy stuff all the time
3) The boss is here so I think it’s okay.

I was about to text back that the weather was way too crazy to learn to surf today (then again, I guess if you think about it, a windy day does create waves, which is necessary for surfing), but was stopped by the phone ringing. It was Sarah again. She was upset, but at least this time she wasn’t accusing me. She’d been trying to get in touch with Pete since he left, and she couldn’t find him. His family didn’t even know he was back in Canada. Sarah asked if I was sure he actually got on the plane.

Since I sent Pete to Canada by gifting him my airmiles, I had no way of checking. But I did tell her that he never planned to go home, he was going to meet up with some friend who owned a skate park or some such. She knew exactly who I was talking about.

She was quiet for a few minutes, then said that she did not appreciate the fact that I took it upon myself to send Pete away. I reminded her that I did not ‘take it upon myself’, but did, indeed, ring her and she told me she didn’t give a shit what happened to him.

‘Of course I fucking give a shit what happens to him. He’s the father of my three children,’ she screamed then hung up.

I am really done with Sarah drama. I swear.

So, off I pop back to sleep and that morning I woke up to HP in the flat making loads of rubbish and Candy sitting in my kitchen telling him that he’s got ten minutes to get showered and dressed. They had to get into work early.

Then, the little skank said, ‘I need to get a shower too. Should I join you?’

Silence.

Then HP said, ‘Only if you let me spray you in the face.’

WHAT THE FUCK!

She laughed and said she was going back to hers to get ready for the office, but she’d put some bacon on if he wanted a butty. He said, ‘Throw in some coffee and I’m there?’ It wasn’t what he said, it was how he said it. All cutsey and flirty.

And HP doesn’t flirt. Ever. What the fuck.

I was in such a fucking shit mood I stormed out of the bedroom and straight into the bathroom yelling, ‘What the fuck is going on between the two of you?’

Naked and suds up, instead of addressing the question, he just says, ‘I’m taking a shower. Now is not a good time.’

I threw the Radox at him and stormed out.

Sitting on the bed in an absolute pissy mood, waiting for he and I to have it out, to find out that he’s cheating on me and madly in love with the perfect little sci-fi sex-pot next door, I was preparing for a fight. Actually, I was doing the sums in my head to figure out if I could afford to keep the flat without him there, and should I get a lodger? Or maybe we should sell the place, and go our separate ways?

After his shower he came into the bedroom, towel wrapped around his waste looking all sexy and cute, and that’s when it hit me. That I love him. And the man I thought was my soul mate was going to leave me for someone who probably did sexy R2D2 roll-play in the bedroom. (I know R2D2 is some sort of robot, but I honestly have no idea what sci-fi nerds are into sexually. I mean, I should know since I’m in a relationship with one, but I have no idea.)

Anyway, I realised that the man I am madly in love with, the man I thought I’d spend my life with, didn’t love me anymore, and all that anger left and I started to sob. Just sob. Snot and tears sob.

HP sat on the bed and asked me what was wrong. Actually, he said, ‘What the fuck is going on with you at the moment.’

In gulps of air I said, ‘You’re having an affair with HER.’

‘You are being ridiculous. I will talk to you about this tonight. I am late for work.’

He slipped on a pair of pants and jeans, then threw on a shirt. As he left I said, ‘But you’ve never gone surfing with me…’ But it was too late. He had already shut the door.

Yes, I know. I don’t surf, and I can not imagine a Universe in which I would choose to surf. Yes, in principal surfing sounds good. Me in a titys bitsy teensy weensy yellow poka dot bikini. I’ve dropped that stone and I have a rocking bikini body. We’re in Hawaii, the water is warm, I’m standing on the beach – not sun burned in the least – with my red tendrils just the right amount of curled from the wind. I’d look out to sea, grab my board and go. I’d do some sort of perfect wave flip, or what ever it is surfers do, and dolphins would swim next to me as they bask in my aquatic form.

This is my fantasy. I do not think I need to even replay the reality. We all know it would end with me either freezing in a wetsuit and drowned or me sunburnt and drowned. Either way, not good, so not going to even bother pretending that I plan on surfing. Ever.

But, I digress. The truth is, HP should want to do these things with me.

I went into work with a massive headache, which I thought was from the lack of sleep and the snot crying, but as it turns out I was getting ill.

We had the Monday morning meeting around noon, and Giles informed me that after a little chat with Patch they’ve decided to suspend all of our social media accounts except for LinkedIn. I think my jaw literally dropped.

It was the Intern who very politely asked what prompted that decision, and Patch stated that he felt we had too many platforms (our blog, Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, Instagram, SnapChat [which is great for author events]} and that we should focus our target. He then said that since we are looking to ‘help make writers into authors’ (okay, that is a good catch phrase, I’ll admit it, but you don’t close down your social media) we should focus on the one social media tool used in business – LinkedIn.

It took all I could to not just say, ‘You’re an dickwit.’

Instead, I brought up the fact that a lot of people contact us through social media, and that more and more communication is happening via Twitter than email. That if we try to erase the presence I’ve spent the last two years building, it will look like we’ve gone out of business. I also added that it’s pretty difficult to delete social media accounts (Facebook will never completely delete your account) so we may as well keep them going.

Giles agreed that we’ll keep them open, and that we should monitor them…just in case someone tries to contact us through them, but everything else should go through LinkedIn. And that will be monitored by Patch.

After the meeting, I then discover that Patch is all too happy to be in charge of the LinkedIn account as he bragged to BigEyes that he has over 600 LinkedIn connections. ‘It’s where you make contacts,’ he says as she moony-eyes over him. Then it dawns on me. On all our other social media sites, the person creating the content is anonymous. As in, the content is coming from the organisation. On LinkedIn, he can make sure the content has his name on it. This has nothing to do with targeting, this has everything to do with plastering his face on the Agency’s brand. What a douche-Patch.

And, on top of SocialMediaGate (as it will now be called) Patch was doing my head in all day yesterday. He’s developed this really annoying habit of talking to me quietly. Okay, before you have a go at me for being mental, let me explain.

When he wants to be serious, he puts on his very serious quiet voice. Where he walks over, puts his hands together like he’s praying then touches his finger tips to his lips, closes his eyes, says whatever nonsense he wants to say (usually in Giles style business-cliché) then goes ‘Alright?’ in a tone that is reminiscent to a parent asking a child to do something.

He did this to me three times yesterday, and I swear I was going to punch him in the nuts the last time he did it. In fact, the last time he gave me his super serious voice, he asked if we had the LinkedIn profiles against people’s names in our database. I told him that I had completely given the database to the Intern, he’d have to ask her (she’d already left for the day). And he freaking rolled his eyes at me and snorted. Can you fucking believe that?

He then walks back to his desk, gives BigEyes a look, she laughs, he laughs and shakes his head, then he sits down and types something. To which BigEyes makes a comment about how he ‘types so very fast’ and how all that ‘super fast clicking is distracting her from her work…or is it something else.’ Then he leans over and says, ‘My wife always tells me I’m too fast at things. But if I can get a job done quickly and accurately, why wait around?’

BigEyes then says, ‘Do you do everything quickly?’

And this is where I thought I was going to barf, ‘He says, some things I do take my time with. But the boss isn’t happy with that either. She doesn’t understand that it’s my job to please.’

She blushes and calls him ‘Marathon’ and he swats her arm.

He then shouts across the room, ‘Hey. Lit 2. You’ll like this…’

But I have no idea what he said, because that’s when I realized that I was ill and I needed to go home. The nausea was not just from the sheer pile of shit being shoveled in the office.

I came home early, and went straight to bed. HP got home around 7pm, he said he was ready to talk about the morning drama. But that’s when he saw me and recoiled, ‘Are you sick?’

I nodded yes, and he said that he needed to quarantine himself as he had a big week at work and couldn’t get sick. He then added, ‘Candy has a boyfriend. We’re not doing anything.’

This should have been the answer I wanted, but it wasn’t. He should have said, ‘I’d never cheat on you because I love you.’ The fact that Candy has a boyfriend is neither here nor there.

I asked if he’d ever seen the boyfriend, and HP said, ‘no’. Hmmmm. Something smells fishy.

HP slept on the sofa and I stayed home today, wishing death to my virus ridden self.

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