It's hard to be critical of the very thing you're doing....no, that isn't true. I'm critical of blogging even while I'm blogging.
Is their any other activity of the modern age so touted for making connection that makes you feel so, well, alone?
It's like writing a diary no one wants to read. And I don't just mean me. (For the record, none of this stuff is anywhere as interesting as what I write in my real journal. That's all sex, drugs, scandal and excitement.) Some lucky bloggers get a volume of comments. Like, for example, Michelle Duggar. But then if she reads them she'll have to shift through the invective--not my cup of tea.
But then I am a touchy-feely person. Sitting alone in front of my computer is my least favorite time of day. And, too, I get it. No one has time to read this stuff, let alone comment on it. We're all too busy with our lives full of technology and medication. No wonder. A virtual community is just that. Virtual. A.K.A., not real. Not that I want to be a whistle blower, but how can it compare with sitting together in front of the fire next to our cave?
Ah, for those good old days.