I just wonder if it’s necessary to be this connected to everyone. There are people I see in Walmart who I don’t know well enough to approach and say hello, but can name off what they had for dinner last night and where they spent their vacation in 2012.

It was 1976 when the Eagles released the song Hotel California, and in one line they perfectly described Facebook.

“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

Several times, I have announced a departure from the social media site, and then proudly announced how freeing it is to be unplugged.

I’m just above it. I’m over it now. Facebook is dead to me.

Of course in order to make that announcement, one must log into Facebook and reactivate the account. This is just for the common good, because where else can you reach 742 people who can hopefully follow these footsteps and make the same breathtaking change.

It’s also necessary to participate in the discussion on the post. Again it’s for the common good. And just to kill time waiting for the masses to respond to the groundbreaking announcement, I run across Sharon’s new puppy.

“Aww! Congrats!”

Just one comment. No big deal.

Then Kortne announces a new baby on the way — and how would I have ever known if not for Facebook? Plus, Deb posted a hello message on my wall and now I look rude for never answering it.

Just like that — I’m sucked back in. I checked out for a bit, but I can’t seem to leave.

And what concerns me is that I find great potential there to make a massive fool of myself. Especially as they add more and more features to the site. Mark these words, Facebook Live or Facetime will one day be the death of me.

When I first started working at the school, I got a phone case to put around my neck, to keep track of time at recesses. But weird things happened as my phone swung around my neck.

Random apps opened themselves. Facebook, Instagram, and my Bible App which opened straight to Philippians 4:13 with, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

Which I honestly appreciated since I was headed to 5th grade recess.

Once during a meeting, I heard a strange beeping, but I just kept on talking and it just kept beeping around my neck. When I finally grabbed it, I found an utterly confused man face staring at me live on my screen.

We never spoke a word as he tilted his head and watched me bumbling around to figure out how to hang it up. Finally, I looked straight at him, awkwardly smiled, and shut the whole phone down.

Thankfully, it was my hubby’s work buddy who I sometimes have to message questions about his work to, because Shawn refuses to get a phone. Or Facebook. Or join the century we are currently in.

And you know, this wouldn’t have happened back when phones were just used to call people. No one wore a rotary around their neck or butt dialed from a wall phone (and if they did then there are some serious questions that need to be answered).

I just wonder if it’s necessary to be this connected to everyone. There are people I see in Walmart who I don’t know well enough to approach and say hello, but can name off what they had for dinner last night and where they spent their vacation in 2012.

Sure it’s fun — but it’s just kind of weird too.

Plenty of articles out there deem social media as addictive, but I can’t say how reliable those sources are. I do know I get an adrenaline rush every time I see a notification light up my screen.

I am also more easily distracted than ever. And sometimes rather than really read an article, I find myself skimming it — like I would a social media feed. I have also checked my phone countless times since I started writing this column. Honestly, it’s like a tick. And it’s not healthy.

And considering how many people are on it, I have a feeling I’m not alone.

At this point, my solution is to do the same thing I’ve always done. Try to figure out a happy medium — not miss out on everything social media has to offer meanwhile not allow it to take over my life.

So, it’s Hotel California. I’m headed to the checkout desk. But I’m not fully leaving.

You know, for the common good.