Lovestruck Glass Houses

Now I’m all for letting people know that you’re happy. Somehow, we’re not quite as willing to telegraph distress (even though it might be rather useful in certain circumstances. Maybe a campaign to normalise talking about badness is a step too far but if we’re so willing to signpost the good why not send a little sadness with it? But I digress, for a change). Somehow you’re not looking especially surprised at that statement.

For what it’s worth (that’s coming off as really quite defensive and there’s no way to alleviate that now I’ve pointed it out), I am happy. On the brink of deliriously so. But that’s my business, I don’t want to live a life on social media. However, now there’s no evidence that I’m in such a state. Maybe I’m just a shade too lazy to bother with the hassle of curating media to put out on the world wide web (that Black Mirror episode was pure vindication).

I may have had a point initially but I’ve wandered off on vitriol against my generation who just want to derive a little satisfaction from showing off. That’s all it is. And here I sit on my charmingly high horse passing judgement. Or perhaps it’s within an abode of transparent panes that I happen to currently reside in. I should think twice about lobbing any stones about.

And really, when you’re in a daze of wonderment about the beauty and majesty of a burgeoning relationship it’s perfectly understandable that you want to shout it from the rooftops. Or indulge in the modern equivalent of posting it on every available social media feed and then watching the statuses like a hawk to see how many people actually care about your fledgling romance. That’s fine, just don’t start criticising others for doing the same. Even if they garner more likes than you do.

Song choices courtesy of: Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly.

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