The 10th birthday of Facebook last week caused me to recall my miserable pre-Facebook existence, when methods of procrastination were sorely limited.
As a stay-at-home writer, phone calls were hard to control. What if the caller wanted to tell a long story? What if she wanted me to pay attention?
I could have a bit of contact with the outside world by scanning the newspaper or listening to the radio. But for me the switch in media tended to trigger snacking, which often led to napping.
I needed a way to remain in my chair, at my screen, but be able to check in on friends without having to make small talk or even hold up my side of the conversation. Although I didn't realize it, I also needed a chance to spy on semi-strangers and relatives and people from my past without breaking any laws. I needed a simple way to keep up with neighborhood gossip and industry rumor. All while investing precisely as much time and attention as I wanted to, with no reciprocal responsibilities.
I needed Facebook.
Satisfying the semi-social, procrastination needs of middle-age writers may not have been what Mark Zuckerberg had in mind when he launched Facebook, but he can count that among his accomplishments. Thanks to him, with one click I can leave work, get out of my own story for exactly as long as I wish, then return to work.
I assume all Facebook users find their own community. I write children's books, so the people who "friend" me tend to be teachers, librarians, writers or readers. And they're there for me.
Just the other day, I couldn't remember the title or author of a book that I wanted to recommend to a friend, so I asked the communal Facebook brain. Within minutes I had the book's title from a middle school librarian in Massachusetts whom I've never met.
Another time recently, I posted a picture of the grubs I found infesting my flower beds. By nightfall they'd been identified, remedies had been suggested, similar stories shared, sympathy extended.
What I didn't expect when I first started using Facebook was that just through the accumulation of "status updates," which are rarely more than a sentence or two, distinct personalities would emerge. Many of my 1,429 Facebook friends who began as total strangers have become virtual friends.
There's also something wonderful about the ease of ending Facebook friendships. I can simply block anyone I find annoying, and they never know.
And when blocking isn't enough, there is the delicious joy of unfriending.
Facebook friendships can also pull you into real-life dramas.
I have one Facebook friend who is suffering from severe depression. She recently checked back into the "whack shack" (her words) for electric shock treatments, which she described in detail. She writes with humor and charm, but it tears my heart out. I find myself as anxious about her illness as I would be about an actual friend.
Recently, a sweet guy I'd never met, and only knew from his Facebook posts, died. I learned this when his brother announced his sudden death — on Facebook. I was totally blindsided by the depth of my emotion. But I wondered if I was entitled to be sad over a total stranger. Was it voyeuristic? Ghoulish?
The sorrow felt entirely real, but it was embarrassing.
I secretly went to his Facebook page and found that I was not alone.
Alongside his real-life friends and family, many people who had only known him on Facebook posted condolences and memories and prayers. His online community mourned. We comforted one another. Some of us eventually became Facebook friends.
Maybe those of us who connect on Facebook care for each other and cry over each other in the same way we do over characters in novels and movies. So even if the Facebook world is just a new kind of fiction, the laughs are real, as are the sorrows.
And the procrastination is exquisite.
Amy Goldman Koss' latest novel for teens is "The Not-So-Great Depression." She wrote this for the Los Angeles Times.