I have nothing. Nada. No professionals. No writers. I don't even have anything clever to say. I'm tapped. I hate to say this, but I think I've lost my will to blog. I know people read this blog as I see the little traffic ticker go up by about 100 points on days that I do post something and by about 50 on days that I don't, but I realize that the nature of this blog makes it kind of weird to be a devoted follower/commenter. It's about death. It's one of those blogs that you might like to read every once in awhile, but not every day. And because it's about death (mostly personal stories of death), people feel somewhat weird about commenting, just like they do in real life. What am I supposed to say? I'm sorry? She had a nice long life? The sun will come out tomorrow? Thanks for sharing your incredibly sad story and making me cry?
I feel extreme guilt when someone shares their personal story and no one says anything. Don't worry, I'm not naming names or trying to shame anyone to play nice in the tit for tat world of the blogosphere. I know death is weird and it makes us uncomfortable and we want to pretend it won't really happen to anyone we like, love or God forbid, happen to ourselves. I get that. Maybe I just need a button that says, "I read your post." Or "Curious Anonymous Person Was Here." or maybe "I got it." I don't know. What to do, what to do?
I'll tell you what I did do today. I dropped out of my tribe on Triberr and all it took was a post by a fellow tribe mate to instigate that action. I was beginning to feel like a bot. It's not like the posts of my fellow tribe mates weren't worthy of tweeting, it's just that I rarely had the time to read them all so I just shared them. I have lots of followers on Twitter and I'm hoping that some of them are curious about the news I share about death or death with dignity or the death penalty. They probably thought it was weird that I was posting random tweets that had absolutely nothing to do with death. That's another thing I don't know-- I have a love/hate relationship with social media. Especially after this past week. One word--Chicken. Don't worry, I'm not going to go there.
So, it's Wednesday. On my agenda today is a blood donation. If I could procure an interview with one of the people at the clinic, maybe I will. They don't witness death as phlebotomists, but the whole point of blood donation is to save others from dying. So, I guess if I can't get one, I'll interview myself.
DW: Why do you donate blood?
DW: Because it's easy and they appreciate it and they always give me cookies and juice. Plus, I get to see my cholesterol level. For the record, I've got really low cholesterol despite my love of bacon.
DW: That's very nice of you.
DW: Thanks.
Okay, so happy hump day. Go do something nice and don't tell anyone you did it like I just did.
I feel extreme guilt when someone shares their personal story and no one says anything. Don't worry, I'm not naming names or trying to shame anyone to play nice in the tit for tat world of the blogosphere. I know death is weird and it makes us uncomfortable and we want to pretend it won't really happen to anyone we like, love or God forbid, happen to ourselves. I get that. Maybe I just need a button that says, "I read your post." Or "Curious Anonymous Person Was Here." or maybe "I got it." I don't know. What to do, what to do?
I'll tell you what I did do today. I dropped out of my tribe on Triberr and all it took was a post by a fellow tribe mate to instigate that action. I was beginning to feel like a bot. It's not like the posts of my fellow tribe mates weren't worthy of tweeting, it's just that I rarely had the time to read them all so I just shared them. I have lots of followers on Twitter and I'm hoping that some of them are curious about the news I share about death or death with dignity or the death penalty. They probably thought it was weird that I was posting random tweets that had absolutely nothing to do with death. That's another thing I don't know-- I have a love/hate relationship with social media. Especially after this past week. One word--Chicken. Don't worry, I'm not going to go there.
So, it's Wednesday. On my agenda today is a blood donation. If I could procure an interview with one of the people at the clinic, maybe I will. They don't witness death as phlebotomists, but the whole point of blood donation is to save others from dying. So, I guess if I can't get one, I'll interview myself.
DW: Why do you donate blood?
DW: Because it's easy and they appreciate it and they always give me cookies and juice. Plus, I get to see my cholesterol level. For the record, I've got really low cholesterol despite my love of bacon.
DW: That's very nice of you.
DW: Thanks.
Okay, so happy hump day. Go do something nice and don't tell anyone you did it like I just did.