Sometimes I Just Want to be Alone
Ezinne Ukoha

Yet you’re here on Medium harvesting the attention you rail against. Let’s peruse the adoration below together, and stand in awe of the introvert’s prize: safe recognition sans exposure as a garden variety needy human being. What better flashlight to make out the distant edges of this cage we live in than the fact that the only outlet we have to express our discontent with social media is social media?!

But it takes one to know one, and here I am as well.

Seeing as though Snark is the intellectual currency of our age and writing behind levels of Meta (which are really just the fun house mirrors of the contemporary writer) has become a necessary component of the conveyance of deliberate meaning, I recommend including words of fodder in these regards: show us that you appreciate the irony of using one social media platform to lay bare the other.

You close with a line that nods to the distinction between loneliness and solitude effectively, which is especially apt when paired with your title. However, you offer little between that places flesh on these bones. Reach out to other writers that recognize the current shape and size of Plato’s Cave and draw on their strengths. Better still, just crib voraciously from them. When you work to include your voice in the chorus of better singers (such as Sherry Turkle, Nicholas Carr, Douglas Rushkoff, et al.), you place your thoughts into a powerful line of reasoning. This particular chorus, it is my opinion, needs a voice that can carry the line “I can’t find a boyfriend because I refuse to post my most recent Hi-Res image to illustrate just how darn fuckable I am.”

Kudos for including reference to generations, by the way, without staking out generational ownership of the Existential Nightmare. The word Millennial has been bastardized to irrelevance; you’re wise to avoid it. Discussing your dad brought necessary camaraderie without tying yourself to the anchor of useless stereotyping.

Now go clean up your Facebook page and post some pics of your pedicured toes lounging poolside. Your next job’s HR associate and social(media)-butterfly boyfriend are waiting to judge you.

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