I have always considered the phrase, “for all intents and purposes,” unnecessary, much like the phrase, “that being said.” Being one to pretty much call ’em like I see ’em, I’ve never quite understood why some people can’t just get to the point and say what they want to say. Being like this, for the most part, has served me well, although there was one particular incident that my directness was both stunning and shocking, even to those who knew me fairly well.

The setting was the 1983 company Christmas party. My husband’s employer had a contract with the U.S. Army at Fort Rucker, Alabama. Unless you’ve been there, you might not know that Fort Rucker is located in the southeastern corner of Alabama and, save for the fact that it’s eighty miles from Florida’s Gulf coast, there is not much to do. This probably figured into why only two people on the staff–my husband and the secretary, who were, ironically, the only employees in the research-oriented environment without a Ph.D.–hadn’t been issued DUI’s; indeed, we chauffered four of them to the party that night because their licenses had been revoked.

Needless to say, the alcohol flowed liberally, much like it does at many Christmas parties. After dinner was served, my husband’s boss gathered everyone in a circle and announced that it was time to distribute presents. But these weren’t your typical Christmas presents. In fact, they weren’t even tangible. As only those who-think-higher-thoughts can understand (or so they think), these were “mental Christmas presents.”

My husband’s boss got in the center of the circle of roughly thirty or so reluctant participants and directed all of us to try to guess who was the recipient of his “mental Christmas present,” and proceeded to give vaguely encrypted clues–no doubt alcohol-influenced–that were meant to describe a supposed gift that a particular individual might benefit from receiving. (If you are having a hard time keeping up with this, imagine the difficulty inebriated people were having that night.)

After a couple of futile efforts on both the boss’s part (to articulate adequate clues) and the staff’s attempt to follow, it was obvious that this charade was going nowhere fast. The natives were getting restless; more specifically, they were anxious to get back to partying and mindless socializing. For my part, it was getting late, and I just wanted to go home. Annoyed that everyone else was staring blankly at the boss clue after clue, I commented (not blurted…that would have been rude), “This is stupid.”

For a few seconds, a dropped pin could have been heard. I felt the heat of my husband’s glare that seemed to say, “There goes my job,” and for a brief moment I wished I hadn’t been so quick to point out that the Emporor had no clothes. But then one his co-workers said, “Yeah!” and then applause erupted. It took one person to state the obvious. But I digress; I wanted to write about what it’s been like not having Facebook in my life.

There is supposedly something magical about thirty days when it comes to making a change; the general consensus is that the intended change becomes a habit after thirty days. Well, my experience of wanting to get Facebook out of my life leads me to believe that this is true; after thirty days I no longer have the urge to open the app. In fact, I’m going to delete it as soon as I delete my account (not merely “deactivate” it; that’s something entirely different.)

Sure, during the first few days of the break-up I was curious about whether or not any comments had been made about my decision (ego can be so big, can’t it?), and I also wondered if anyone had written a personal message to me. But then I remembered that I included my email address in my last post, so between that and the fact that my friends have my cell number, I was assured that if anyone really wanted to contact me, they could, one way or another.

After the first week I stopped thinking about Facebook altogether; I was fully ensconced in Life. Instead of waking up and checking to see what had transpired on Facebook while I slept, I took the dogs on a two-mile walk every morning. I focused on the three magazine articles whose deadlines were looming. With the spring semester winding down and final research papers having to be submitted, there were plenty of students in the Writing Center to be helped. And I prepared for my daughter’s and grandchildren’s week-long visit. I actually wondered how much time I had apparently wasted on Facebook, and that really enforced my resolve to quit absolutely.

The number of articles written about quitting Facebook is staggering; there is even the website, quitfacebooknow.org. According to one Huffington Post article, quitting Facebook is the ‘hip new lifestyle promise’ that is discussed at cocktail parties and Starbucks nowadays. And here I thought I was the only one (Damn you, ego!)

No less than half a dozen of my friends (my “real” friends, that is) confided that they wished they could quit Facebook, but for one lame reason or another just couldn’t bring themselves to pulling the plug. Granted, a few primal instincts are satisfied by Facebook and social media in general, like wanting to belong, a bit of vanity and narcissism, and more than just a little voyeurism. But when one considers the trade-off of posting tidbits of one’s life for all the world to see 24/7 (by the way, this is called “data,” something that Facebook collects massive amounts of and then distributes to the highest bidders. And Edward Snowden is the bad guy??) quitting Facebook shouldn’t be a difficult choice.

In addition to cyber-bullying, easy access to porn (see what happens when you search “girls” the next time you’re on Facebook), and research indicating that there is evidence that social media correlates with poor self-image and eating disorders among college-age women, Facebook has made it even easier for stalkers with its “Nearby Friends” feature. Users who have opted in will be able to receive notices on their mobile app that their “friends” are near; it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to surmise that this feature will probably figure into countless tragic episodes in the near future. I don’t know about you, but this is more than just a little creepy for me.

If reading this has peeked your interest about quitting Facebook, then I would highly recommend that you do some research and find out more. The implications of posting on Facebook are very scary. And what’s even scarier is that our children and grandchildren are at risk; after all, to join Facebook one only has to click that they are 13 years of age, whether they are or not.

So, after posting this link on Facebook, I will delete my account forever. If you’re ready to do the same, here is the step-by-step: http://quitfacebooknow.org/how-to-delete-facebook/

Good-bye, Facebook, and good riddance.