I feel like I’ve lived too long.
Like a guy who has made a deal with the devil. I get to live as long as I want. Heh, heh — only eventually I discover what Satan knew all along: that immortality is hell, and after a few hundred years I’ll be begging to end it.
I started this blog just a couple of years ago, so you’d think I’d have some reasonable expectation that my magical, invisible, virtual “friends” that I made in the early going would still be with me. And some of them are. I won’t list them — you know who you are, and you are the wind beneath my wings.
But my mind keeps wandering to the friends I’ve lost. Some have simply vanished, leaving no way to reach them or find out how they are. Some have made announcements, ranging from “I’ve been discovered at work and I have to shut down” to “I have nothing more to say,” to “I’ve got a book deal, so long, suckers!” Some have deleted their blogs and pornographers have taken their blog names and planted pages of nasty links where once were the writings and art of people I sort of knew.
Each time one of them departs I get that “deal-with-the-devil” feeling: I seem to be going on and on, even if a bit sporadically lately, but my bloggin’ buddies are departing the blogosphere, leaving me behind, feeling lonely and a little desperate. In self-defense I become more withdrawn. After all, why make friends if you know they are going to leave you? This is a little weird and pathetic of me, I know, so I’m trying to buck up.
In the meantime, I hope all you lost sheep are OK.