To refresh your memory:
I found a book called 642 Things to Write About by the San Francisco Writers' Grotto.
I bought it in either February 4th or April 2nd, 2015. The receipt's still in it. I think I've looked at it every now and then, and probably thought, "these might be good writing exercises." At least someone else would be coming up with the ideas.
642 things. One thing a week. That would only take - -no that can't be right - 12.35 years?
I've done three - that's right, three - stories so far, and you'll have to go back to 2016/2017 to find them. I wouldn't write them the same way so I want to start over, but at that rate I'll be 100 before I finish, ha. Ha.
The book was published in 2011, so I suppose they were thinking, "What does six years in your future look like?"
Six years from now is 2030...
I don't even use FB that much right now; it's only for group info, and this summer I was camping long enough in a "dead zone" that I came to enjoy not logging onto FB every day.
With all that in mind:
The cursor on Spinny's Facebook page blinks desperately, wanting so very much to report in to the Watchers: What's on her mind.
But it's not to be. She's logged in, sure, for the first time in months (has it been that long since she's shaved her legs? One time those things were concurrent), but she's just checking in on some stupid group post. All the cursor can do is nudge some cookies along to report in on that activity.
But there is no personal report.
She doesn't even see the fun new colours available for a post. The goblin shouting through the megaphone for Announcements. The smiley faces that still try to make all your friends think you're happy. The new flowers. Still a rose, because what better flower is there, but still new. She doesn't see even the fun little kittens frolicking around your words.
The cursor is a little sad, but then it doesn't matter because it goes dark when she logs out.