Forget What I Just Said
If you need a good cry just go on over to www.lileks.com/bleats/archive/97/05972.html . ( Keeping in mind that that was almost ten years ago and well . . . . Remind me? How old do dogs live to be? --- Honestly, I try not to think about it. --- But I do. )
Which gets me to thinking about the distant relationships we build on the Internet. Not close relationships. Just distantly neighborly ones. Those of us who care at all will notice when things are missing. We might not know what happened at first, but google.com being what it is we can probably find out in about five minutes. So, if we all survive for the next several years, we'll probably see ole Jasper go "where the good doggies go" and we have the possibility of seeing ( if we survive for the next thirty or forty years ) ole James go -- where the good writers go. ( We'll probably definately see Gnat in her wedding dress and five minutes after the birth of her first child. --- "Thanks tons, Dad," she'll probably say and roll her eyes. )
Man. Am I depressing, today, or what? Ah, well. That's life. ( I also read all those blogs about women and their fertility difficulties. )
I have no ego, where this is concerned. The only people I expect to give a rat's hindquarters when and where I shuffle off this mortal coil are my child and the bill collectors. The occasional person might wander by the blog and notice I haven't written for a while. ( Say since 2044 or so. ) But they'll just say "Sheesh. What happened to her promise to blog once a decade?" Then they'll meander off into that wonderful morass that is the 2050's and the Universal Wide Web. ( I hear that new blog from the Alien Detention Center in Alpha Centauri is pretty interesting. ) --- Yeah, that's right. I'm not planning on living to 100 unless they invent a home plastic surgery machine that lets you be at least 60ish forever.
Anyway. Grab some tissue. Lock the door. And prepare to sob. Then go read last weeks Bleat ( up through today ) and cheer up. A little.
