i've just turned the "hit counter" back on here on this journal. i'd turned it off after the first couple of days. but i'm beginning to wonder if i am writing into the total void, or if anyone else is reading this. it's okay, mind you, if no one is reading. i'm having a great time talking to myself. the hit counter will show me if, perchance, any invisible eyes are reading over my shoulder. i know one of my sisters and a couple of friends have read some of the entries, and even made a couple of comments. that's been heartening.
i haven't yet gotten up the guts to ask anyone else to link to the journal, by sending them an entry link, as the blogfather suggests we do. the blogs i read regularly are so professional they scare me. they all seem to be people who do nothing but absorb information, comment upon it, pass it along. do these people have full-time jobs? do they sit at a computer all day every day? do they cook meals? shop? have families? read novels? sleep? i am spending far more time on the computer than i ever have, but it's nothing compared to what the ur-bloggers must spend.
speaking of novels, i'm reading james lee burke's latest dave robicheaux book. no wonder i'm feeling rather low in spirit. his books always do that to me. dave is a recovering alcholic cop in bayou country, louisiana, whose world is peopled with angst of every kind. he has now lost two wives, one to a horrible violent murder, the second to lupus. he's having an even worse time in this novel than usual, so far. i've taken a break from the book to realize how much better my own world is, and cheer up.
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