Follow me boys, follow me,
When you think you’re really beat
That’s the time to lift your feet,
And follow me boys, follow me,
Pick’em up, put’em down and follow me,
Follow Me Boys
Written for the Boy Scouts of America
by Richard M. Sherman and Robert B. Sherman
I’ve added a Followers gadget over to the right. To those who are psychologically evolved, inserting a tracking gadget is a non-event. Sadly, my insatiable neediness turned it into an angst-ridden ordeal.
As I’ve discussed with Daisyfae in several email exchanges, I spend far (far) too much time pouring over my stats and comments. I realize that maintaining a blog is something that is purely for the ‘self’ and that worrying about the size of your audience is a exercise in futility. Wishing for more readers is inane and pointless, but I’ve never permitted sound reasoning to interfere with my foggy judgment and I’m not about to start now.
Last summer I received a flattering review from the hard asses at Ask and Ye Shall Receive that I thought would result in a media firestorm. Those guys aren’t easy to please, you know! There was a big spike in the bar chart which has since tapered off.
At my worst, I get into comments/unique hits pissing contests with people who are completely unaware that they’re in a pissing contest with me. A Followers gadget seemed suicidal! Which evil genius wrote the code for a gadget whose soul purpose it is to cast a harsh spotlight on how few readers I have? Did he/she do it specifically to mock me? I think so.
But there it is, chuckling. Ridiculing me. I might create a dozen false accounts just to goose up my number.
3-Year Old Daughter removed the flat, wooden slat from its sleeve at the bottom of the window shade, stood up on our bed and stuck it in the rotating ceiling fan. It made a terrible racket. I bolted upstairs and shouted at her.
“What are you doing?!”
“I wanted to see what it felt like. Now, you made me cry. Waaahhhhh…”
She’ll be the one who dates a biker. And not one those weekend pretenders, either. You’ve seen them. Actuary accountants who don expensive leather jackets and get all manly on Sunday mornings. She’ll date the real thing. This is the same innocent flower who took a pair of shears to our curtains.