Every morning when I wake up, I reach down for my laptop, which sits beside my bed on the floor, and I check Facebook. I have already checked Facebook immediately before falling asleep—that’s why my laptop is so close. But as each day brings new possibilities, so I hope Facebook will, too. In reality, it does and it doesn’t. In Facebook’s domain, there’s no horizon—the sun never sets.

I hate that I love Facebook. I crave attention, yet shy away from it at the same time. I covet notifications—little gifts, in my mind—yet I’m often embarrassed to receive them. If I could bring myself to do it, I would paint Facebook red. I would like every video, comment on every picture, join every group, play every game, attend every event. Fortunately, I restrain myself. But really, what for?

Well, there’s my dignity. I do check Facebook every 12 seconds, but you won’t know it unless I leave a trace. But so much on Facebook is innocuous and boring. I think that’s the problem. I know I want more than that—something vague. But let me just look at my profile one more time to double check that it’s not there.

When the Egypt protests started, and so many commentators attributed the revolt to Facebook, I felt sort of emasculated. “Wow,” I thought. What the hell have I been doing with Facebook all these years? Definitely not propelling insurrection or fomenting unrest. Could Facebook actually be cool now? Subversive?

Just in case, I joined “We Are All Khaled Said,” a Facebook group protesting police brutality in Egypt. Wael Ghonim, an Internet activist who works for Google and who was detained for 11 days by the Egyptian police during the protests last month, supposedly created the group.

Now, I imagined, I was doing something, I was being active. But I was still doing it on Facebook. And it didn’t feel much different—or more exciting—than changing my profile picture. I was still in Montreal, going to class, taking notes, making dinner, and the protests in Egypt were going on without me.  

I’ve deleted my account about three times in the five years I’ve had it. But my furloughs have never been long—two weeks at most. Leaving Facebook was as much an acknowledgement of its power as was checking it incessantly.

If everyone checks Facebook as often as I do—swallow your pride and nod—if everyone is as addicted as I am, then it’s not surprising that Facebook may have facilitated protests in the Middle East. As Nicholas Kristof wrote in the New York Times: “New technologies have lubricated the mechanisms of revolt.”

I’d never considered Facebook a tool of empowerment because it embarrasses me that I have an account. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over that embarrassment because I can’t—I won’t—get off Facebook.

In my boring and un-heroic case, however, Facebook doesn’t really facilitate protests. It facilitates parties. I’ll probably enjoy life more if I attend one of the 16 events I’ve been invited to throughout the week. And in the end, perhaps Facebook is an invitation to get off the computer. But you have to have spent enough time on it to know that.