Fictitious & Fabricated.

People. Where do I start with these? People are great. People are stupid. People are just people. They love, they hate, and they become your friends.

I have over 600 friends on facebook and I know each and every one of them. I believe I’m acquainted with each one is a better use of terminology. Knowing implies you have some sort of knowledge of another person as you would of John F. Kennedy or Rose Parks, or even your own best friend. Quiet frankly, I have a hard time believing that even half of the people on this site “know” me as a person, a real person.

Sometimes I sit and I stare at the number. It fluctuates daily and currently ends up being somewhere between 652 people on a good day and 634 people on a bad day.

Regardless, who are these 600 some odd people? They each have lives, each have difficulties, each see joy at the start of each day and sometimes they pain. I don’t know their problems and they don’t know mine but their feelings are, nonetheless, valid to some, which are their own close group of friends.

I have top friends though its not formerly stated anywhere nor does it need to be. It’s the people who check my page on a daily and leave me “some cyber love” in a comment, or post a picture, make me a video, show some sign that they we’re there, etc. It’s those people who are filled with the positive energy. Those who tell me “get well” when I’m sick and those who “just dropped in to say hello” every once in a while, those who relate to my statuses throughout the day or leave videos saying goodnight.

Then there are those who use this type of tool to mock, to creep, to have something to talk about, to always have something to say. They look at everything and anything as if they are on a forensics team researching a crime scene. They pluck each part of a profile out and bag it like evidence. They examine my life as if it were something of real value to them, something essential to their being that without it they would have no real passion in life. In a mature world, I would imagine that their own lives had enough issues that they wouldn’t need to look so keenly into mine. However, I was wrong. People of all ages from gossiping grandma’s to the twelve year old children who claim they are grown come hither to feast their eyes on nothing more than a girl turned woman overnight. A girl who sips on her chai latte surrounded by the thin smoke of incense from her morning prayers and blogs about her own trials & tribulations in the silence of a stormy and foggy San Francisco morning.

I let you into my world through my blog. My pictures flicker vividly and paint the scene and I leave everything uncensored, unblocked. And your eyes judge things that exist in your mind as pure fictitious fun. I’m sorry you view my life as you would a Perez Hilton site or a teen magazine on a shelf waiting for preteen eager eyes to purchase. But my life isn’t here for your judgement. It’s here for those close to me like kin to share their thoughts and emotions. For us to share our memories without your involvement. So go on and die behind your computer screen, throw up over your keyboards, and watch as I thrive & you suffer in your worthless insolence.