I’m not counting. I’m not even aware of the fact that I’m ask close to 1K but for

some reason Twitter likes to fuck with its users. It’s a scheme that shames us into admitting that we really do care about the numbers that assign us fame or misfortune.

Up until now — I barely monitored the high increases or steep decline of the number of followers honoring my page.

Actually I sort of started paying a little bit more attention when I witnessed how quickly I had acquired almost 50 new friends within a short period of time.

800 was a good number. I was more than okay with that. I liked the fact that it occurred organically with no particular agenda in mind.

People liked my work and decided I was worth keeping tabs on.

Generating impressive evidence that you are a social media star is the crux of our existence as humans — who seek validation in any form that will host us.

I love the response from readers who appreciate my writing to the point of actively sharing my work as a sign of support.

That usually leads to an increase in followers which beats the alternative of waging verbal warfare for the benefit of an audience that thrives off of your lethal banter.

I remember back in 2009 when I invited Twitter into my life — the audacity of being given the option to buy followers left me appalled and confused.

Was it possible that we were being given permission to be shameless about our need to pay people to value us?

How could we be that desperate in our social pursuits?

Now, almost seven years later — the landscape has become even more elastic — with the bands of time giving way to pockets that house specific battlegrounds — with assigned leaders manning the stations.

So much happens on Twitter that gives me pause, but I’m a disciple because it’s a marketing tool that does the job well.

There’s also the issue of the metric system and other stuff that I’m not familiar with, but I know plays a part in why you can have 920 today and 910 the next day at the same time.

I do notice the annoying shuffling of victory and defeat — and chuck it up to the mechanism of a platform that was designed to drive us crazy for attention and numerical orgasms.

But, this time I tragically do give a damn!

I do! It sucks to admit it but I’m losing my mind over how close I am to the finish line — and yet the closer I get the further away it seems.

1K. Not necessarily a feat that warrants trumpets and fireworks but it’s a neatly rounded figure that looks a hell of a lot better than 991.

991. That’s an infuriating place to be. It’s even more torturous when hours later you’re confronted with 989?!

Is that even a real number?

Yes, it is real. And I’ve been at the edge of madness as the weeks go by and my ability to reach the pinnacle of my longing — has yielded zero results.

As of now I’m back to 991 and I’ve decided to accept my odd digits and keep it moving.

It’s time to revert back to the nonchalant stance that has consistently kept me sane as I religiously wade through this sea of systematic disorder.

991 will have to do. It’ll even out eventually.

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