I get the feeling there's going to be a substantial amount of going back and deleting posts from previous days in this blog. If you ever think you saw something but it's not there later, you're probably not hallucinating. I'm already finding yesterday's entry more than a little stupid.

Imagine my surprise (yes, we've changed subjects, but it's still all about me) today when I opened my mail and found out that I'd received a feedback on something I'd written. That's a fairly rare occurence in my life. I'm always astounded to hear that other writers have hundreds or thousands of readers. I have four. (And I cherish them all, let me add.)

I think I wrote one story that got ten feedback notes and well over half those people seemed to misunderstand what was going on in that one, so I'm dubious about the value of their praise. Not that I'm dissing people finding whatever they want in a story. I'm just saying. It's not a rape story, okay? And it's not non-consensual. Everybody was having fun.

I have a page full of rants and rants thinly disguised as writing essays that's probably received more feedback than any all the stories I've written. (Today's feedback was on that page.) I also find that odd. One friend thinks I'm only really good entertainment when I'm all fired up about something. The feedback pattern indicates she might be right.

Okay, enough about me. Checking the short list of people I know who have blogs, I see The LilyLady dissing the Queen, Cap'n Nasty is still getting weird propositions from strangers, and that Wild Mole must be actually working because she hasn't updated yet. This blog thing could become quite addictive. I mean, if I had anything to say, you know?

I have some thoughts on the recent X-Files finale. Maybe I'll inflict those on you later today.

I can confidently predict that within a week, most of my friends (well, all four of them) will be praying that I get a job so that I'm not able to sit here all day every day babbling on about the butterflies drifting past the living room window and the way that the fan sounds almost but not quite entirely unlike the sea washing against the shore.