Not to be outdone...

Never one to be outdone when I can easily make an ass of myself by trying to keep up, I'm not entirely willing to let my wife's blog get completely out of the reach of my own.

My own personal blogging experience once led to a bevy of faithful followers (at least ten that I know of off-hand), a published book (which only has one copy in all of existence), and two years of writer's block, verbose dissertations on nothing in particular, and lots of time wasted wondering what I was going to write about next. Many times I found myself wandering aimlessly through the wilds of Drew Curtis' FARK.com, MSNBC, or local news websites, ever searching for that one sure nugget of idiocy that would provoke my ire, leading invariably to at least a paragraph of madness.

Deviating from my year-long plan to consistently update and improve my previous endeavor to see my own greatness recognized by others, my blog fell to the wayside (and can now only be seen through use of The WayBack Machine, though I'm not sure Mr. Peabody has anything or even ever had anything to do with my rantings), and I undoubtedly let several people down...including yours truly.

Penance for my sins has been nothing short of painful, though not excruciating. Ideas would occasionally assail my mind, only to find no creative outlet with which to make good their mass exodus and infect the world. For somebody who enjoys writing like I do, the fact that you have nobody to read what you put down on paper (or in this case, inconvenience several billion electrons into displaying the ramblings of your drippy mind) and incite conversation, praise, or even criticism is nigh torturous. Never one to see the glass as half empty, I find myself facing the realization that while I may not have the following that I once had, the readers that do find their way to my little corner of "teh intarwebs" are of a more intimate type for the time being.

Admittedly, I relished in my former glory. Whether or not this is a bad thing, I may never know until I stand tall before the man. Nevertheless, I'm willing to (for now) settle for a more intimate reader-base. Maybe then if I bail out of this ship though it's not sinking, at least I know that my readers will still have to love me.

Who knows? Maybe this time I'll go somewhere with my writing.

But probably not.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?