Dear Devoted New Reader:
You know who you are. You’re the one who has been reading fifteen to twenty-five of my entries in one sitting over several hours. Or maybe there are more than one of you doing that lately. For simplicity’s sake, if there are more than one of you, I am going to treat you as one. I mean no slight to any of you. I’m just too lazy to write more than one letter.
Your obsessive reading of my weblog is quite flattering. I am touched. I just write thousands of words, compiling whatever is in my head, every couple of days, and someone is out there gobbling it all up in huge swallows. It makes me feel more special in my little corner of this articulate spiderweb, because honestly, I sometimes wonder why I bother with all the tumbleweeds blowing through here.
Unless you’re stalking me. No, that would not be so special, because stalkers abound, believe you me. Oh, yes. I myself have had two stalkers, a whole two, so if you are stalking me, specialness is not what I would be feeling. Not that I think you are stalking me, no, but let’s stick with this idea a little longer, because now it amuses me.
If you are stalking me, and you are reading me voraciously with the intent of gleaning enough facts about me to find out where I am the physical world, you just might be able to do it. I try to be careful, but I have probably slipped up a few times, and fellow bloggers who know me in the real world may have slipped up, and then there you are, pinpointing my location in Canada. Oh, don’t get so excited. We all know I live in Canada.
Okay, let’s assume you are not excited about the Canada bit, because being my stalker (which you’re not (remember that we’re just following a thought that amuses me)), you would have already gathered the obvious. Let’s say that you have actually discovered not only which city I live in but where I live in that city. Let’s say that you have already spent time standing outside my building on a handful of occasions. I have something to tell you. It’s an apartment building, and knowing what window to lurk under is a very important matter. You very likely have been lurking outside some old lady’s window or a drug dealer’s or a single mother’s who is just trying to do the best she can with her disadvantaged pinheaded baby. You should stop that. They don’t like it any more than I would and probably less, because to them you are not a newly devoted yet misguided reader. To them you pose a potential danger, and they are probably calling the cops as I write this, carefully describing your ball cap and your general height and racial appearance. Sadly, I will not help you with the which-window-is-Schmutzie’s problem, because I am wary about giving out that kind of information to relative strangers.
Okay, now let’s assume something nicer, something a little more palatable. Let’s assume that you are simply someone who has stumbled across this site as you were wandering through the mazed network of cyberspace and took a liking to what is now, by today’s count, two hundred entries on this weblog of mine. Let’s say that you are a nice person much like myself who is not amassing an arsenal against my character (okay, maybe I have done that, but you are not allowed to. It’s kind of like how I am allowed to slam my relatives, but those not of my genetic pool are not). Maybe you have your own website that you tend to semi-regularly. Now we have something in common. Well, we already have the common interest which is me, so that’s two things in common. Hey, if you are a co-worker or a real world friend, then we have three things in common.
Really, I’m just curious about you. Looking back over what I’ve written today, I sound a little paranoid. Which I’m not. Not in the least. Honestly. I’m just curious about you. Who are you? If you are wondering how it is that I know about you in the first place, just take a gander at that neat little counter that tells you how many visitors have been here. That counter accesses a website that also tells me a whole bunch of other information about who has been here, which is how I know that you have been reading my entries one after the other like my posts are those little sugared mini-donuts that I loved to snarf down when I was a kid.
Dedicated New Reader, are you someone who just happened across this site and took an interest, a real life friend who’s catching up, a sneaky co-worker (eeks), my mother (eeks multiplied)? My curiosity is killing me. Well, maybe it’s not exactly killing me, but I do wonder about you. This is like having a pen pal who never writes back, or a deaf mute friend who refuses to respond to any of my conversational notes, or it’s like having a weblog with readers that I will never hear from and having one who hangs around noticeably enough that my curiosity is piqued right through the fucking roof so that I end up writing a ridiculous letter to “Dedicated New Reader”. Wait, it’s exactly like that.
Hello, by the way. Drop me a line if you are so inclined. Unless you’re my boss, in which case I would prefer that we never speak of this.