Sometimes I don't much care who I offend. In some regards, I would be glad to know there was anyone left to offend. I admit my nerves have been rattled lately, but these are the thoughts that pass through a rattled mind.
I have less and less patience with my friends, old or new, who express too little interest in my blog. I don't know if they are utterly puzzled about my web sites or what, but most of my friends and near acquaintances apparently have no very great curiosity about it. It seems unlikely I have failed to make it clear that I put a lot of effort into my web sites. I am pushy and obnoxious, after all, and the blog is Me. Don't I make enough noise? Sometimes when I ask if they ever look at it, they say "Sure, I do." They don't seem to have registered the fact, though, that it's possible for me to recognize their hit (or lack of it) on the Site Meter counter. I know a website hit can be disguised, but most of the people I'm thinking of don't know how.
How Much Does It Pay?
I keep wondering how is it possible that I know people after all these years who still can't imagine taking an opportunity to write, much less doing it often. I guess it bores them. They especially can't imagine when I tell them how much it pays. I much prefer anyone who says, "Sounds like it'd be fun for you" or anything at all like it, something polite, tolerant, positive, something indicating they know what I'm like. If I could make any money out of it, I would probably have mentioned it already, knowing how the world values these things. I wouldn't make anyone ask! I might not tell how much, but I'd admit it if there were at least some money involved! There is not. I realize that there's the new "Adsense" offer where bloggers make money if readers click on their ads, but I doubt that my readers are shoppers. I'm certainly not.
I believe that if the world were occupied only by these unimaginative friends of mine, humankind would never have invented anything more exciting or useful than the Lopsided Rock wheel. Or maybe the Chunk Of Wood axle. We'd all be bumping along on irregularly shaped wheels, going whump-bump bump-whump, whump-bump bump-whump from cradle to grave! Maybe that's the true etymology of "bumpkin". I'm just guessing, I could be wrong. If friends or acquaintances read this, I guess they could get insulted. Join the club, I'll teach you how to bellyache about it.
You're Still Doing That, Huh?
I guess you can tell that I hate it when long-term, even lifelong, friends pay little or no attention to my web sites. What's the scripture about Jesus, that a prophet has no honor in his own country? Of course, that sounds as if something important is going on, and that's just not true. I have a cousin who reads my Internet crap very regularly, but of my other relations and old friends there is little evidence that more than a couple of them have trifled with it more than a couple of times, and that's no encouragement to me. Guess it wasn't their job to encourage me.
Ageing Lout
It's a good thing my feelings aren't involved in this, isn't it? I wouldn't want to argue with these old friends and I presume they wouldn't want to argue with me, but I have been and remain astonished at the lack of interest and comment. Some haven't looked at "The Rat Squeaks" even once, or if they did, they never informed me of the happy event. Perhaps my friends are just dropping away rapidly like dead skin cells? Perhaps it isnt rapid; perhaps it's just cumulative and I intermittently cry out. I guess I've become a lout in my old age and they know it and aren't ashamed to show it. That's my thought, mere speculation, of course.
Set Your Chickens Free!
My friends may not be consciously "paying me back" for anything, though I have ignored many people in my life, including my friends. It may be my bad karma being brought to bear, my chickens coming home to roost. All these things seem quite the same to me. Whatever it is, like bad breath or a pulsing hemorrhoid or a big red zit on my nose, I've got it, Bubba—or it's got me.
Depending On The Kindness Of Strangers
Only you perfect (I mean complete) strangers buoy me up out here on the iffy Internet, and lately I suspect you're starting to hold your breath and slide back and look the other way, too. I wouldn't blame you. I have no mirror here except the one on the Counter and in Comments and Emails. I often conclude that all my strangers are going to be even stranger strangers.
I'm always adding someone to the "Intelligent Blogs" list who doesn't last long. Folks quarrel or take things wrong and one or both of us just decide to shut up. It's an awful thing, I guess, to be so un-steadfast, so unstable, so sensitive, but it's motion and therefore it's useful and necessary. I'd rather give you a hotfoot than to pretend I'm your daddy or your priest; I'd just bore you to death. I try to be interesting, but I'm probably not as interested as I should be in others. It's my major fault, I've been told, an ugly cross to bear. Did I say "sensitive" earlier? Shouldn't I have said "insensitive"?
I Am The Porcupine, Goo Goo Goo Joob!
I'm irascible and sometimes insufferable. And other Bloggers are too at times, and sometimes it all butts heads, like a multi-car pile-up on a major California highway. I am surprised each time it happens, not because I am innocent of blame, but because it's hard to think we can be serious about such nonsense as this. How do we take total strangers at all seriously? I find it very confusing at times. You see, over and over again, I'm just insensitive. I'm serious when others are not, flippant when others are not. Is "bad timing" a synaptic dysfunction? Or just an old-fashioned stubbornness?
Don't Suffer Me
I had hoped to make a fool of the Universe just a little bit longer on the Web, but alas, I feel time slipping away. No one mistakes a porcupine for a puppy, do they? Not for long. So, if you start to see me misbehave or to be intolerant or intolerable, don't tolerate it, don't hold still for it, don't call me names, don't stay! As Monty Python used to advise, "Run away, run away!"
If it ain't funny or useful, let go of it. You can easily find someone else to amuse and who will amuse you. And I may even be able to find someone else to amuse or abuse. But if not, I'll quit.
"I hate mankind, for I think myself one of the best of them, and I know how bad I am." — Joseph Baretti
No comments:
Post a Comment
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)