OK, so that last entry was depressing. But short. See, you didn't have to be depressed for long! Or maybe it wasn't depressing. I don't know. Something called "Death and dying" must be a downer, right? That's what we assume. That is the meaning we attach to death and dying in this culture. Could we have that wrong, too?
So, just to get back to my human side for a moment, because I like to pretend I'm not human while writing about all these lofty ideas, but I really am ... here are my thoughts about who I would like to have reading this blog. If all my friends and associates are reading it (which they are not), I definitely wouldn't want to know that because it might change what I write about. I might be stopped by the thought, oh, that might offend ... or someone might recognize what I'm writing about, and I don't want them to. Or, just the thought that I don't want my privacy invaded too much. (Too late!)
If nobody reads my blog (except my very faithful followers), I surely don't want to know that! How depressing. You want to make a writer depressed, just let them know that nobody knows or cares what they are writing about. Now that is truly sad. Try blogging about that for a while!
The best thing would be if thousands, or millions, of perfect strangers were reading my blog. And loving it. I know that's not happening, but I can dream, right? I guess brilliant writers are just writing to amuse themselves, and then it's a pleasant surprise when everyone else is equally enthralled. But for me, I always wonder whether the words I record will make a difference in someone else's life. Because if not, why do it? I think I wrote here before that it is enough that it helps me. Well, it's not, not really.
I am home with a sore throat (I would be home anyway, not working today). By the way, Austin has a cold, and Dwaine was not feeling well, but they both insist that they did not give me a sore throat, because they don't have one themselves. I guess I gave it to myself, then.
Being home, I've discovered that we have one, or many, obsessed birds that keep knocking on various windows throughout the house. They are very persistent about it. It sounded like one was intent on breaking into the bathroom earlier. It's actually rather creepy to be alone, then hear somebody knocking at random moments and different places. I am telling myself it is the birds ... or is it "The Birds"? Yeah, Hitchcock knows exactly how I am feeling at this moment. He must have had this experience of lunatic birds knocking their little brains out against windows. What will happen if they actually make it inside the house? No one will even hear my screams! Imagine. They'll kill me, then they will rescue their incarcerated parakeet friend, Scout.
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