Dear Mr. Postman, Send Me a Note?

My good writing buddy, Dad #167 asks in a recent post on his blog, Why Do I Blog? Ironically, I have been asking the very same thing. I guess it is mostly some offshoot of self exhibitionism or a lonely hearts club of sorts. It's a perfect way to waste my time.

The other day I went out to my mail mailbox and found it empty! Not even a bill or a mailer! I felt so unimportant. Doesn't anybody write real letters anymore? Does anyone even know how to write one? Does anyone remember when people actually used to write letters? I have written many to friends over the years. Not a one lately. Why bother? E-mails fill the void.

It's an odd feeling to blog. It's like reading poetry to an empty room. An exercise in self. Me to me. In a Tom Waits song "Better Off Without a Wife" he muses "spend a lotta' time with myself. We get along so well..."

I had hoped for comments: "Just love your stuff" "Made my day", "Heavy", "Insightful", "Crap" "A waste of my time!" "Keep writing dude". Anything!

I get a bite once in a while but the fish escapes into the abyss.