I’ve been on Twitter for, what? Three and a half, four years? I’ll admit, since the election, I do a lot more retweeting long screeds than original hilarious content, and since it’s summer, unless you’re a Royals fan, nothing I say will have any relation to your life, but still.
I’ve spent years coming up with thoughtful, funny, frustrated, insightful, and/or random Tweets for all my followers and fans to enjoy. I put care and brainpower into these 140 character nuggets. My following might be small, but I always felt like it was high quality. Like I said, the bitterness and anger since November may be a little off putting, and I’ve been having a hard time finding the funny…and also some of the things I say that I think are funny cause the Fox News Cult to attack me for a month straight, threaten to kill me, and actually contact my job to try to get me fired.
Nonetheless, I continue with my baseball Tweets, my retweets, and my Simpsons quotes hoping to bring a little wisdom or perhaps just a smile to someone else’s day.
Then in March, my boyfriend decided to set up an account for the cat. Her name is Rogue, and the account is @RoguesHouse. That’s what we call where we live. Rogue’s House. Pretty cute. I thought, Rogue will probably Tweet five or six times and then get bored like she does with everything else. You’ve never seen a cat lose interest in a laser pointer the way this cat does.
It took Rogue only four months to surpass me in followers.
Her stuff isn’t even FUNNY! It’s just pictures of her talking about how she’s fucking lazy, or sleeping, or hates work, or is scared of thunder. Like, WE GET IT. You’re a cat. How about a pithy observation about Russian collusion or intersectional feminism mixed in with all the selfies every once in a while?
I gotta tell you, this development isn’t really helping my overarching belief about myself, that I am a fundamentally unlovable person. Maybe I should’ve just been posting pictures of my cat with lame ass captions this whole time. I’d have twenty-thousand followers and a lucrative book deal. Instead, I have to live with the fact that my cat is more popular than me. As is my boyfriend. And my fictional ghost hunter character who Tweets so sporadically I have no idea how she keeps gaining followers.
I guess my only choice now is to convince myself that my Twitter is just too far ahead of its time to be understood and appreciated. I’m the Arrested Development of Twitter. I’m Twitter’s Kafka.
Please follow me @NickyCurly.