Which is why I've not been around much. Real life things have been calling me and have left me with small time to be around. It doesn't help that my wireless keeps crashing since I'm the sort to curse and storm off rather than fix it, plus I did have that time away in Colorado which totally pulled my head out of writing for a while. It gave me a lot to think about.
Much to my amazement, I seem to have tipped over 100 followers. My sidebar doesn't show the number (unless I highlight the area) and I can't get the color to change when messing with the display options, so I gave up trying to fix it. See paragraph one, sentence three. My point is, I didn't even notice I was close to 100.
So, it makes me wonder if I should have some sort of contest or blogfest. You guys tell me. What's your pleasure? I'll tell you up front that a contest of mine would be about talent and not popularity. It'll have nothing to do with Facebook or Twitter point racking. It will be a contest to showcase your writing, as would a blogfest, so pick your poison.
In the meantime, another one of my shorts. Let me know if you can picture this guy in your head, even without a description. I can, but I wrote it.
The drop down list of my friends at the top of the page tells me you were online two hours ago. The comment I left you is from six hours ago, but you said nothing to me in return. I see the little picture that is what you’ve chosen to represent yourself in cyberspace. It is down on my list of recent visitors, but you said nothing to me.
I left you a note. The box turned from yellow to grey, so I know that you read it yesterday between noon and one o’clock. I kept checking because I could not wait to read what you would say in response. Yet, you said nothing to me.
I went to his page. I see you’re talking to him again. Why do I even care? You’re the idiot who smiles as he brushes your hair back from your face, knowing the words that fall from his pretty lips are lies.
I shouldn’t have told you my account name. I was safe from the world before, hiding in cyberspace where I could speak to people who understood me and did not call me names or kick my dog or throw my book bag in the ditch. I was safer with the freaks than I am with you normal people. Now you’ve told them all my name and they come to my page and mock me there, too. I had to change my account name again. I’m so tired of doing that.
Not to mention money down the drain from another subscription that bit the dust. I was almost at a thousand pageviews, too, you bitch.
I think this time I will pretend to be a girl from another country and cannot speak English well. It is so fun to intentionally massacre the language, to warp the words as they are thrown at me by others to warp me.
I mean, it’s not my fault I am the way I am. It’s everyone else’s. Every jock that pushed me, every teacher who mocked me in class, every girl that laughed at me when I tried to flirt, every relative who wouldn’t sit next to me at Thanksgiving… you are all the reason I need acceptance, but will probably hide in my one room efficiency apartment every night after I am back from working at my menial job in my fluorescent lit cubicle.
On the internet, I am a god. How can reality possibly compete?