I started blogging on October 11, 2003. Here’s the post. I had about twelve readers, online friends I knew from a pregnancy message board. I remember the first comment I got from a stranger. I was freaked out and a little outraged that a stranger would leave me a comment. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t even really understand what a blog was, nor did I know that so many blogs existed.
I used to write with wild abandon since no one in my real world knew about my blog other than my husband. I described my days (often full of snot and cabin fever) and my feelings and my opinions about whatever. I obsessively checked my statistics to see how many visitors I had, where they came from, how long they stayed. I clicked on other blogs, built my blogroll, left comments wherever I went. I was a Blogger. I blogged pretty much every day.
Being a plain old blogger led me to being a paid blogger and my stint at Clubmom.com. That job led me to unveil my secret blogging life to some people in my real world. And suddenly, I felt like I was writing on an overhead projector. My blog became less private, less of a haven.
Now, six years later, my online world has become very public. My Twitter leads to my Facebook which links to my blog. My children are my Facebook friends. My mother reads my blogs. Other Facebook friends (college buddies, childhood acquaintances, the neighbor down the street, etc.) have access to every blog entry. People from church–both old and new–can stop by and read my blog whenever fancy strikes. The category of things I no longer talk about has grown exponentially leaving me to wonder what, exactly, I can possibly talk about. (Things Not To Talk About: Teenagers, Family, Job, Church, Marriage, Politics . . .).
I’ve been working online for a website full-time for almost two years. I have hardly any time at all to read blogs and I rarely leave comments. I know my pool of readers has trickled away even though I never, ever check my stats any more. I can tell because I have so few commenters anymore. It’s a far cry from the hey-day when I’d have thirty or forty comments on a post.
It’s kind of sad. And I sort of don’t care. Except when I do care.
I think about starting over, a brand new, super anonymous blog, but then, I’d have no readers. And why write if no one reads it? (Catharsis alone?) Plus, I don’t have time. And my brain has dried up like a raisin, all wrinkled and gummy.
I’m never going to start another blog, though. (Never say never, but I say never.)
Really successful blogs have a plot. Or a deliberate purpose. This blog has neither. But it’s mine and we have a long history together, sort of like a relative you have to invite over for Thanksgiving. (Disclaimer: Not that I’m talking about My Relatives or My Thanksgiving. Obviously. Maybe yours, though.)
And yeah, I know there will be no comments because my blog is a vacant lot and what is there to say, really, to this sort of an entry? But on the positive side, at least I’ve managed to come up with something to say without offending anyone I actually know. Unless you are offended and I know you.
Also? Yoko Ono annoys me. Who knew?