Yesterday I met up with the people I work with, here at Blog Central (population: us), for the very first time. You know how we live in the future, and do not have to actually personally interact with someone to work with them or know them or, eventually once the science is perfected, have sex with them. We did not have sex either virtually or at this meeting, though I kind of wanted to, when I walked in the door of the restaurant, and saw how pretty they are. The people I am lucky enough to work with–who are smart, and funny, and about as weird as me–they are also extremely awesome, and kind and it was a perfect lunch, and I am a very lucky kind of girl.
Continuing to live in the future, they have also been reading my Internet weblog for three months now, I guess it is. Three months of me talking about my ass, and my bathroom habits and my insanity and issues and personality disorders and my boobs. At one point in the conversation, with a forkful of perfectly-seared tuna heading toward my face, I realized that they know just about everything about me, and I know virtually nothing at all about them. So that was awkward.
Well, not awkward, really–it was a wonderful time and I felt like I’ve
known them forever. But the point is this: that this thing I do,
writing All About Me, that is what I am hired for. However, not only
does it sometimes make me tired, it is weird. It is weird to be telling
everyone everything that falls screaming into my head, and to know
hardly anything at all about the people reading it.
People out there, that is you. I do not know you. You say wonderful
things to me; you have wonderful advice and suggestions and comments
and thoughts and ideas. Sometimes you share your stories, and sometimes
you leave a link and I get to go look at your website in return, but for so
many commenters and readers, I’ve got nothing to go on. So many
e-mailers who won’t comment, so many people who don’t do either the
commenting or e-mailing, but I know you’re out there, watching.
Breathing. Waiting. I just creeped myself out.
So do me a favor, will you? Will you please introduce yourself? Even if you’ve commented before, or left a link, or we’ve had long, deep conversations via e-mail about our colons, will
you please go to the comments right now, and tell me who you are and how you
got here, and what it is you do and what you’re like? Say hallo! And it
will be so nice to meet you.