Shouting at myself.

Congratulations! If you’re reading this, you’re one of eighty people who have ever gazed upon my blog.

That’s right. Eighty people - in about a year. I’d get more reads if I put a big sign up on the University campus with ‘SEX’ written in big letters followed by a ‘now I’ve got your attention’ gag.

But why do I carry on with this method of communication when it so clearly garners no views, no interest and is simply the equivalent of muttering under one’s breath…

Um…

Ahhh….

Answers on a postcard?

In honesty though, I’m quite happy to have this as my own little space where I can mess about and play with things, and I think I’ve forgotten that over the past months. Not having the interest or feedback is something that may be a good thing. There’s no pressure to make things any good here (thank God), and there’s nothing stopping me from messing about with the writing.

This is almost like falling into solipsism in my own blog. With no-one to watch, you may ask why I address this to you (if you were there (which you aren’t (so I don’t need to make that digression to explain anyway))).

Well, I guess it’s writing for me now, but there’s always the off chance that once a week somebody will take a look at the blog, so I might as well be prepared for that.
Until then though, I’m just going to talk to myself. How are you JB? I’m pretty good thanks, how are you?

Etc. Existential ego-rant over.