So, I get it. Weekends are not high traffic days for blog readers. Yesterday I asked everyone to tell me what they’d like to read about, and I only got one response. Ok, that’s not exactly true, I got a couple of responses, but one idea. I also got one mean-spirited comment, from someone who shall remain nameless. But, you know who you are, Megan.
I figure, Sunday has got to be the worst day for a blog. People are not sitting around chained to their computers, in desperate need of entertainment. In fact, I’m pretty sure this blog will get very little attention at all. After I press the “publish” button, this trivial diatribe will float off into the dark endless chasm of the internet. If it’s lucky, perhaps it will end up wedged in a fissure in the wall of cyberspace, somewhere between the ruins of Friendster and thelongestlistofthelongeststuffatthelongestdomainnameatlonglast.com . (That’s a real website) So, it doesn’t matter what kind of personal information I divulge here. It makes no difference what secrets or juicy gossip I launch out into the digital Delphian void. It won’t be read.
I grew up going to church every Sunday. First Pentecostal, then Methodist, and finally Presbyterian. But my Grandparents on my father’s side were both Pentecostal ministers. I don’t think they would have approved of my blogging on Sunday. But then again, they wouldn’t approve of most of my life. Still, I wonder if they ever felt this way about their prayers. Did they ever wonder if their little lonely messages to the Almighty were just coughed out into the thermosphere, dodging weather satellites and space debris, on their infinite journey to the edge of the universe? Maybe this blog will one day bump up against a prayer or two, somewhere in the unlit recesses of time and space. And I wonder, from that improbable vantage point, if they wouldn’t look like the same thing.