20 March 2007

Friends and Lovers

I've been thinking about many pieces of this entry for a long time - and I'm going to try to piece them together in a readable whole.

I had already started this stuff, but Yahoo crashed my comp. Hua. So let me repeat.

Bloggers are a special group. Mebbe it's the fact that they have a little more time on their hands. Maybe its the fact that they are able to connect with just words. But for the most part, they just seem to care more. You won't find that kind of compassion or caring in Otherland.

Here's the short and sweet of it all. One email that I wrote would illicit a major reaction from my friends in the Blogosphere. They're tuned in. They give a shit. One email will illicit a mass reaction of concern and caring. The folks in Otherland will never match up. I won't get a single reaction from many clues from the Sigo for an entire week compared to the reaction I'll get tomorrow.

My best friend and cellmate tomorrow will be the first one to sound the four alarm fire when she wakes up and sees the sudden 4 entries in my Blog. She's keyed in to the signs. How does that happen in six months when the love of my life, my soulmate of 8 years, can't figure it out. That's your Blogosphere Buddies for you.

You explain it, Lucy. How does that connection click? Because the Blogoshpere friends are more connected. How else do you explain it?

Here's the rub.......... If it came down to it and I was in real trouble, friends like Fringes who actually live close, would show up on my doorstep despite the Sigo's reaction. Imagine that for a moment. Fringes showing up at mi casa, because she knows she's needed, while the Sigo looks on in bewilderment and suspicion, having no clue as to what's going on because we've been together long enough that the alarm signs aren't registering any more.

The Beast is hunting tonight. Make no mistake. its been quisent for too long, and it damn well knows it. It's got a blood debt to extract. It's been quiet for long time. Taken for granted. The Beast won't stand for that. It's going to draw blood tonight, and it doesn't matter what the consequences are.

WELCOME BACK TO MY WORLD, fearless readers. I know a lot of you have been missing this part of your vicarious living existence through me.

I'll lay a $100 to your $1 that my hit stats climb the f-ing mountain tomorrow.

It's a bet. See you Thursday.

Michael

8 comments:

heather said...

damn well better see us thursday!! this is the part i hate, the catch 22 that is you. i love reading your posts, i never know where you're gonna take me but the trip is always a good one. even when you're down or sad or being hunted by your beast. it helps to know others are going through life just as, if not more, confused and subject to pain as you are. i wish with all of my heart i could slay the beast for you and leave the talented, creative writer intact, but i can't so instead i send postive thoughts your way and pray for the best. you'll be hearing from me. often if needed.

heather said...

great, now i ~do~ sound like a stalker! lol i do it with all good intentions though.

Susan said...

Heather quit stalking Michael..at least in the middle of the night. Some of us have to sleep, damn it.

heather said...

in my defense i had just finished the show and was winding down. honest officer!

Susan said...

I was probably tossing and turning having crazy dreams about babies. Long story.

Roadchick said...

The 'chick is a stalker.

Nuff said.

briliantdonkey said...

Welcome back Michael. Agreed, it is odd some of the connections we make in blogland that can't seem to be made in otherland. Oh sure heather blame it on 'just having finished the show' Im sure no other stalkers have used THAT excuse before.

Ariel: please tell me it didn't involve me shopping at dollar general for a baby. Someone at work had that dream once, I guess she thinks Im cheap! lol

BD

fringes said...

Since there is email, I sometimes forget to check in here. You're right...I'd have your back but with lots of police protection. I'm 5'3". Hardly enough to put a whippin' on a hopping mad baby mama. But I'll be there.