Sunday, February 15, 2009

Cobwebs


I find it ironic that I write about ghost towns in the physical and symbolic sense and don't realize I'm also writing about my own blog(s). You can practically see a tumbleweed rolling down the digital streets of my online home. So it drives home the point to me how easy it is to "fade away."
Fading away is not a new topic for me. I've written two posts in the past with that same title. It wasn't intentional. Your memory kind of fades when you do, too.

Regardless, in some circles, I would now be considered a expert on the topic of fading away. I'm pretty up on being invisible as well. I've written a couple of posts on that topic as well. Middle aged angst does that to you.

I skipped the mid-life crisis, though. It seemed too cliche. I never really had any desire to own a little red sports car anyway. In retrospect, I think I went through my mid-life crisis when I was 19 and have been emotionally aging in reverse the way that Brad Pitt is aging in reverse in his latest movie. This would explain my being a bachelor for 47 years and then becoming a family man.

But I digress.

I have let the cobwebs accumulate on my blogs for various reasons. The obvious has been my daddy duties. I have maybe two hours a night to do anything but play puppet, read "Wheels on the Bus" or change diapers.

The less obvious reasons for my dusty blogs are a disillusionment with Blogger.com and the challenges of dragging virtual branches over my tracks to hide my trail on the Web from unwanted eyes. My enthusiasm for blogging waned a bit when I determined I really didn't want to share all of my weaknesses, phobias and neuroses with just anybody, especially someone who is looking for them.

This greatly reduced my fodder for blog post topics. I also didn't want to succumb to the desire to write about the the economy, plane crashes in the Hudson, unemployment, how stupid Grey's Anatomy has become or how lost I am watching Lost.
You can see only having two hours of free time a night hasn't reduced my desire to watch bad television.

Anyway, I feel like I am a caretaker like my father was in my last blog post. I stop by here every few days or weeks to make sure the pipes aren't frozen and the toilets still flush. Then I check all the doors and windows and lock up. And like all of those abandoned buildings in a ghost town, my blog sits with currents fluttering and waiting for the sounds of life to return and drive out the cobwebs.

4 comments:

Romany Angel said...

I really wish you realised and believed that you still have plenty to offer in spite of your restrictions Tim. For the record I read every one of your posts and comment on them 99.9% of the time.

Time said...

Thanks Karen,
I have always appreciated that you read my posts and comment. It does mean a lot.

Naughti Biscotti said...

You've explained the process perfectly. Once you make your blog private, it just doesn't seem as fun anymore. It does feel very much like locking up for the night.

For as much as it matters, I still come by to see what you've written. Though... I realize I don't comment every time I visit. I mean to but... sometimes it's just as hard to come up with something interesting or witty to say in response.

Time said...

NB,

At times I enjoyed the idea thinking that the world was watching. But sometimes you just have to pull down the shades :) And please never feel that you have to say something witty. We're friends, right? Most of my friends just mumble and I nod.