Introspection. Meta. Prolix.

Well, my parents are gone, and my house is my own again. That's a good thing and a bad thing. I'm lonely here.

I have lots and lots of acquaintances, but I have no close woman friends. The truth is, I don't trust other women easily and I find it difficult to bare my soul the way that other women seem to find so effortless. The reciprocity that is expected of a bosom buddy is difficult for me to give. It's totally my own thing, but it's a real thing. I can't just throw my self into friendship the way so many women seem to do because I am protective of and stingy with with my feelings and my secrets.

The exception to that is my relationship with my mother and my sister, who live 900 miles away.

So anyway....

I have to tell you, that I have not missed blogging. At times, blogging seems like an obligation that is just too difficult to live up to. And I have realized just exactly how much time I have wasted blogging, and trying to reciprocate with comments. And still it seems that I don't garner nearly the traffic that some do, despite my efforts. I try not to let that matter, but sometimes it's disheartening.

Here's an admission I have not had the courage to divulge until now...it really BOTHERS me when good writing (I'm not referring to my own. There are lots of bloggers who are phenomenal writers who don't get nearly the number of comments I think they should) is overlooked for poop posts and one liners. I have tried not to let it.

I have tried to tell myself that it isn't about the number of comments, but how meaningful they are. And truly, I have some of the best commenters around. The insight and information that has been shared in my comments have been very gratifying to me. But still it bothers me...for myself, and for the other writers who pour their heart and soul into their writing only to be collectively ignored.

Is it simple jealousy? Honestly, I don't think so.

It's just another instance wherein popularity trumps quality and it rankles me. I've been dealing with it since the first grade when Heather Harmon pointed out that the fur on the hood of my jacket was fake. This of course, rendered me wholly unsuitable for their exacting standards, and thus, I watched day after day as they skipped rope, cat cradled their yarn and hopped over their lemon twists in a tightly huddled little group.

The blogosphere has some really great aspects to it, and I've felt truly privileged to witness them. I've found writers, artists, philanthropists, volunteers, and parents championing their children with special needs. I've met people I might never have spoken to in real life (Christians) who were willing to share their thoughts and feelings without making me feel like an inferior wretch. I've watched as people gathered around a woman losing her husband to cancer offer support and solace; people who never even laid eyes on either of them. I've watched people rally in support of a little boy with a terrible disease; giving selflessly of their time and their money. I've met a woman who works tirelessly to give the homeless a chance at fixing their broken lives.

So it isn't all cliquism and snarkiness. But there's enough that it reminds me time and time again why I don't put more effort into ingratiating myself with certain groups; bloggers, women, even writers. It's always the same. The power trippers and the prom queens position themselves strategically and everyone else is at the mercy of their petty whims.

Where am I going with this??

SIGH. Well..one of my favorite writers has decided to close up shop. And I find myself thinking that maybe it's time for me as well. I did this last year...or tried to, and I just couldn't make the break. I caved after two weeks. How pathetic is that?

And, on a more practical note, it's AMAZING how much I have gotten done, even with houseguests, when I wasn't held captive to the allure of the blogosphere. If I really focused my time and energy, I could finish my book and maybe even get it published. It's not that implausible to think that I could, if I really worked at it.

But I don't, because the rewards of blogging are more immediate. And it's terribly, terribly seductive. I suppose that means I'm not self-motivated and that I need tons of external gratification to get anything done. And maybe that means that I can't focus my energies long enough to finish a book. But I won't know as long as I remain gridlocked in the endless circle of obligation that is blogging.

This is not a declaration of any sort. I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm really just thinking aloud, I suppose. Maybe I'm wanting exhortations to stay. Maybe I'm wanting encouragement to go. Maybe I just wanted to get it all off my chest.

Food for thought. Right?

ADDENDUM: In my hurried verbal disgorgement, I forgot to say that part of my frustration is that I always considered blogging to be about writing. The fact that I'm letting it be more than that is disturbing to me. Though blogging has helped me find my voice and reawaken my passion for writing, it has also had the adverse affect of influencing my writing in a more commercial sense. I don't want to be commercial. I want to be true to the vision I have for myself and my writing. But that seems to have gotten lost. Maybe what I need is just to find it again.