That’s me, right now: In a weird place. Weird because I’ve just written a blog post that (for me) has been pretty popular—so far about 430 views in the past 48 hours—and I’m disappointed about it.

Partially it’s the fact that, as blogs go, a count of 430 views really isn’t anything.  I mean, to me, a person who typically sees views in the single-digits for a new post, it’s something.  But other people out there get hundreds, even thousands, of views for every post, all the time. It’s a clear reminder that, even when I’m successful, my success is an easily-missed blip on the radar of real success.

But it’s also that none of the people I’m close to really give a flying frak about my blog… none of them actually read it… so what’s the point in telling them?  Why tell my friends that my blog post did really well, if they won’t even bother to look at it?

No, really, it’s more than all of that; it’s the fact that a successful blog post gets me absolutely nothing beyond two or three digital pats on the back by people I’ve never met, said pats being far outnumbered by the trolls and insulters (and a few clear-cut whack jobs) that have reacted to my post.  Won’t make me a dime.  Won’t sell a book.  Zero benefit.  And I knew that would be the case when I wrote it.

So… why did I write it?  Why did I feel like people needed to know what I thought about something?  Why did I feel the need to voice my opinion online, for 430 people (whom I’ve never met) to see, and everyone I actually know to not see?

Beats me.

Gad, how I need a new hobby.  Maybe making chairs.

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