There. I’ve revealed my sin in the title, and I feel reborn. Life is new again!
Or I’m just sleepy and grumpy because I haven’t finished my morning coffee, and I should work instead of blog.
I do write for my own gratification, but as you’re reading this (she says with uncharacteristic confidence that anyone is interested), you know that’s not completely true. Otherwise why would I inflict share my thoughts with the universe?
On that first day of blogging, lo those many weeks ago, I announced with deceptive confidence, “I’m writing for me!”
“Good for you, Sweetie,” Paul said, checking the horizon for shark fins.
“I don’t care if I ever become popular. Or publish my memoirs. Or Oprah interviews me because she’s fascinated by my life.”
Paul tossed “That’s the spirit!” over his shoulder as he checked his watch and bolted from the house.
And ever since that day, I’ve written and posted without worrying about whether or not anyone’s reading my stuff.
Or I’ve checked my blog stats every. single. day. How many views? How many visitors? How many views per visitor? I’ve had visitors from Ireland, Australia, and the United Kingdom today! There’s been drool.
I stunned Paul out of his office chair by blurting “I got another visitor from India again! It’s probably the same person, right?!”
As he ponders the laws of probability coupled with the population of India, he’s still kind enough not to cast doubt on my hopes.
Paul does try to find this as thrilling as I do, and I appreciate that. Although I would like my popularity to rise with him just a bit.
Yesterday I chirped, “Did you see I posted a haiku today?”
He smiled through his exhaustion and whimpered, “I sure did.”
“What did you think?” Big eyes, wagging tail, piddle on the floor.
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t had time to read it.”
Maybe I need to get into pornographic limericks. Or politics. Wait. Maybe I can combine the general concepts:
Got your attention now, Paul? How about the rest of you? May I go viral now, please?