I can feel myself starting to fall off the wagon. Like the horse suddenly stopped dead in mid prance in a threat to push me off. Only, I was able to grab on to the side of the wagon just in time – my feet dangling dangerously close to the floor. Damn Friendster. Damn dream. Damn small world. I’d love to live in the U.S. again so that once you’ve lost touch with someone, the chances of bumping into that person (or anyone he or she is remotely related to) are very, very slim.