And yes, I’m talking to you. You know who you are. We’ve been acting like neither one of us matters.
How sad is that? And we both know that’s not true. We have a special bond, o so I thought. We’ve been here for each other for more than three years now. Quid pro quoing it. You come here to laugh or cry or rage against my mental machine. You’d even get mad at my unflinching political views that you view as completely “head up one’s ass”.
Remember??? You’d call me a stupid, Republican bitch and I’d retort by questioning your testicular fortitude simply for being a pablum swallowing, George Soros worshipping Liberal petri dish??
Carly Simon sang it best–‘those were the good old days’.
What happened? I used to post things with amazing frequency because I needed your input. I needed to know I could still entertain the masses as I’ve done for almost three decades. My blog became my only outlet. But I guess I’m losing my mojo. I don’t post as often, and when I do, the posts, I will admit, are hardly representative of the comedic brilliance (not bragging, just fact) that I’ve demonstrated in the past.
My readership is down. People either got tired of my stuff; stopped understanding it or just got bored. Blogging is a fickle mistress. In one sense, you don’t always get out of it, what you put into it, so I could be blogging every damn day and still have tens of people reading me. In another sense, you get everything back. I always found blogging to be a great release. It was ego food. Even when I read comments from those hell bent on putting me in my place.
No one leaves me comments anymore. I used to average 20 comments–even on my more mediocre stuff. Now, the comments section just looks empty and if you listen closely, you can hear crickets chirping.
I used to love to write. I still do, I just don’t have time. When I was out of work and unloved, those two things joined forces to create this font of creativity. These days, I’m still ridiculously unloved and all alone, but working. At the end of the day, I just don’t have the bandwidth to sit down and write observational humor.
But maybe I could.
I’m a lot like Tinkerbell. She needed boys and girls to clap in order to grow longer wings and fly or some shit. Well, I need that too. I need your support; your comments to keep me going. Otherwise, I’ll turn this blog around and we’ll go straight home–we WON’T stop at the worlds’ largest ball of string. We WON’T stay overnight at the TeePee Motel.
I have never really asked much of my readers. Now I am.
I’m asking you to leave a comment. Talk to me, commune with me. Give me reason to keep blogging. Tell me what you want. Be honest. I can take it. Have things changed? Have I not been doing my wifely blogging duties? Have I become a mother and no longer a wife and no longer doing all those things I ‘used’ to do?
Like giving headlines?
Bending over backwards for a joke?
Then again, maybe I’m not funny (that’s just me feigning humility); maybe you’re just tired of my crap. Maybe I’ve lost my pretty new car luster and you’re looking at me like a acne riddled teen with a bad attitude.
Well, then let me know. This is your chance. Leave a comment.
Seriously. You DON’T want me to start divorce proceedings. I swear I’ll put down alienation of affection as the reason why.
I will. Don’t try me.
But secretly, and tell no one this, I miss you. Yeah, you. YOU!! You know who you are. I want you back. Tell me what it’ll take to get you back to reading me regularly. Please…anything. Even if you’ve never commented before and merely lurked…or stalked. Stalking is OK. I won’t think you pervie. Now is the time to come forth.
I’ll swallow my pride and start giving better headlines again.