I spent Sunday in bed, mostly sleeping. Around 10 p.m. I woke up and have found myself with a surprising amount of time to kill.

I am not a big social media user. Facebook isn’t my cup of tea—I’m more into chamomile. Different strokes for different folks, I always assumed, Facebook and I aren’t meant to be.

I finally gave in and created a Twitter account, though. I knew I would like it when the Web site commented on my password, claiming it “weak.” Classic. It’s “dope” in my opinion, but I suppose some people would find it “weak.”

Within 10 minutes I realized how involved it is. I regretted the initial cult of people and organizations I decided to follow, gathering that it is not equivalent to my idea of the “groups” function on Facebook. All of a sudden I had a feed of a billion lines of random information I care nothing about. Sure, I like The NY Times, but I don’t need to know every article–that’s what the paper is for.

I’ve also gotten some spam-followers. But until I make friends of my own, I’m not going to block the creeps, because at least I look popular.

I’ll be interested to see if I use it or not, but I like the terminology so far. I can see myself pick up the habits in my everyday life.

“At Cassie Wat, These pretzels are making me thirsty, hash-tag Seinfeld,” could work.