Things are really, really, really good

I'm enjoying Facebook. I admit it. I'll even admit that I'm enjoying it excessively and checking it too often and things like that. There are, however, elements of it that annoy me to the degree of some strain, because of the way people are presenting themselves on it.

But then, does the fact that I think other people are trying to communicate "things are really, really, really good" reflect more on them having something to hide, which is my gut hunch, or more on my own self-consciousness in terms of wondering why things aren't as really, really, really good for me as they are for other people? Because things aren't really et cetera at the moment. Yesterday, I couldn't find the keys before going out to meet Magnum and I burst into tears, stamped my foot, and yelled "I hate moving!" into the F-word's shoulder. I'm a stress mess and feeling very sorry for myself.

I think it's the having something to hide thing though. I really do. Whenever I read a wall posting or something that seems to fit that, I remember a colleague of my mother's - a woman who was a study in ambient destructive self-involvement - clutching at my hand one day after I visited her in her lovely big house she owned with her new rich husband in her new (and frankly much better) city - clutching my hand and staring at me with these straining, breaking brittle eyes and saying,

"I'm really, really good. Tell your mother. I'm really, really, really good."