My Fans

My horoscope in the newspaper this morning had an interesting comment in it...

Okay, I'll admit to reading my horoscope everyday.  It's just one of those things, but to make me into an even more depressing case, I read Sex Caffeine's horoscope too.  I think I keep hoping that one day it'll up and say, "Dammit
she's in love with you.  Just look her straight in the eye and give her a smile.  She's yours.  Deal with it lready!"

Jesus, what's wrong with me?

Back to today's horoscope: "You need to be true to your fans."  That's funny.

Sex Caffeine started joking about "my fans" back when we worked together and I commented on it in a blog back in March.  She started it --I think-- after finally coming to terms with the whole "sex equates coffee" issue.  That, piled together with the odd incidences when something around here really (really, really, really) went my way made her think that instead of friends around here --I have fans.  It's not true.  I think.

I just read some people refer to writing blogs as: 

"A form of mass communication allowing people to share their thoughts and ideas with a greater audience than ever before. Or just another way for needy, dull, self obsessed people to clog up valuable bandwith with the minutae of their lives?"
-or-
"Portable Brainbox for the blogger, travellog to make your mates back home insanely jealous, to delude yourself that you're a published writer with a readership of (potentially) millions?...What prompts YOU to put the effort (however minimal or massive) into maintaining a blog? Is it narcissism,
generosity or something more?"

Um, I think I'm a needy self-obsessed person with a delusion that millions of people read this for my narcissistic pleasure.  Kneel down already, dammit.  If I'm completely honest with myself.  I'm maintaining this blog for one major purpose.  I look busy.  It's also a sad state to be in when your truest confidante turns out to be a white screen with a blinking cursor, but these days that's pretty much all I'm left with to share my secrets, my desires and my seemingly endless suffering.  That, and a friend in Nova Scotia just read this and thought to herself, "Dude, you're fucked."

I could be putting my creative energy into something useful, but during the slow times at work it's better to look busy on the computer than look busy drawing pictures, picking my nose, or reading a magazine.  At least this way, I can look up and smile at passers-by too.

When Sex Caffeine came to my office on Monday, she was asking for a favour and I told her that just because she's my biggest fan doesn't mean she's always going to get favours.  Then I giggled because an old girlfriend used to refer to oral sex as a "favour."

So how am I being true to my fans?  By confessing I don't have any.