so

Almost no one looks at my Blog here anymore. This isn’t a conclusion free-falling out of my magical thinking mind. This isn’t paranoid me – a wannabe successful, at least interesting writer. This is black-and-white reality testing provided by the WordPress Corporation, which daily coughs up statistics on the website where it does its thing, coincidentally, where I do mine (this thing) too. These stats are numbers and they’re doubly illustrated with painted-in columns per day so you can see that, say, yesterday’s column was higher than last Fridays, and if the math wasn’t already below I could hover over the art and it would tell me there too. Just so I’m clear.

This is why I write that almost nobody bothers to look at this Blog and its weekday posts any longer. Maybe I should wonder why – Too repetitive? Too wordy? Too many weekdays in a week, weeks in a month, months since last winter? Just not interesting enough? – God, that’s got to be an option. All of which is on me, my writer stuff, and, frankly, I’m hardly giving a rat’s butt these days the part that’s on you. Ah, more specifically, on all you not seeing this. So, maybe I should wonder why but I barely do, and what I’m left with falls directly between obvious and clueless. Save myself the trouble of showing up and putting at least some effort and brain-cell activity in five days a week, cause, like, what’s the point? Or, more over there in the vicinity of the rat’s behind, I just don’t care. Really. A friend said to me the other day, it was sunset on Saturday and I was out in the middle of a San Diego street, she said, “You’re writing it for you.”

Which, I suppose, not only should be enough but is enough, more than enough. I mean, I’ve got a 280-page book of this stuff coming out next week and since barely anyone looks at the Blog anymore it figures there will be a long-standing tall pile of “Weathers” stuck in an already squeezed corner of my small and – you ready? – sacred and spiritual and mystical room I happened to find my way to or was led to or it was fate, possibly always in the cards since I was six years old in first grade in the Pilgrim School, and why not add a bunch of creations of my very own to its sensual clutter?

Yes. I love writing like this, no direction, what comes now, Ma? The fact nearly no one sees it – though you’re seeing it, that merits a heart-felt thank you from me – but mostly no one’s seeing it, it’s quite okay. God told me – “If I wake you up tomorrow, write something.” Big encouragement for a first-grader.