It really doesn’t matter. Nothing really matters, because there’s nothing we- you and I- can do about any of it- Facebook, all the many ills plaguing what was baptised “social media” and which all the time was Rosemary’s Baby grown up and in control of malleable minds feeding them with more and more and more clutter until priorities became lost in the shuffle.
The Bill Cosby trial, Trump, the Russians, the Chinese, Fleetwood Mac. Whatever it is that interests others are doing, but which might not be on the same page as the hymn book from which you’re singing is often just more clutter- if you choose to allow all this randomness in. It would be boring as hell if we all fell in line and became lemmings following the Pied Piper of Hamlyn. There’s a necessity to move away from the sheeples. It’s called survival and it took a houseguest to remind me of all this. It was the wake up call needed to still “belong”, but also remain detached enough to focus on individual thinking. Leave the sheeples behind. They’ll be fine. Like misery, mediocrity loves company.