Bloggity

See, as soon as I take my eye off the (blog) ball for a few minutes and try to write something else instead, in the shape of this crazy short story I'm playing around with that I think jumped the shark the moment I mentioned zombies, but I just ran with it and now I'm really quite enjoying the whole nutbally thing - as soon as that happens, then I have nothing to blog about and it just sits here all day and I realise that while it was extra super-duper nice of me to post on Sunday afternoon so that all those people who are bored at work on Monday morning will have something to read - wasn't it? because I used to be one of those people, so I do feel for you - that it doesn't really count as a Monday post, and what about all those other people who came along looking for something new on Monday and still haven't found it? Well, there's an extra long sentence just for you, that's what.

My most regular source of visitors, according to my stats, is a discussion board I happen to frequent that also has a portal where members can advertise their latest blog posts. Before the advent of things like Facebook, this was totally fabulous, because even people who hadn't bothered to bookmark your blog could go there and find the most recent post. Even now, with things like FB, it still sends me by far the biggest chunk of readers. But right now the portal is broken, so I'd like to extend a big thank-you to anyone who's still coming along to read even though they have to do it by a more convoluted route than usual. I'm really surprised my numbers didn't drop further, so I think some people are actually making an effort. And I do appreciate that.

Ugh. I just accidentally Febreezed my hand. You don't really want to know why.

You know, I'm very happy that the Internet came along in my lifetime, and that someone invented blogging and that it became a thing that people do. Because it's exactly the perfect thing for a person like me: a closet exhibitionist (I do cartwheels in the streets, but only when they're deserted) who used to subject her friends to ten-page letters and, later, e-mails that took way too much scrolling. This way (a) only people who actually feel like seeing me exhibit need to do so, (b) I don't have to write the same news over and over to different friends, and (c) I have an outlet for the constant stream of drivel that apparently comes direct to my fingers, bypassing my brain.

It's also good that I learned to type, disregarding the advice of my uncle who told me that if I did, men would only see me as a secretary. (I've been a secretary, and I was glad of the job and the fingerspeed that got it for me.) Times have changed.

In fact, now my uncle has a blog. I bet he has to hunt and peck to find the right keys.