I've just taken a very deep breath, smacked my face a few times, and pumped my fists in the air in order to prepare myself for this post. No, I'm not pregnant. Again, some conceptions require sexual activity, and there is hardly any of that funny business going on here. The gates are closed, the key has been swallowed.
Not one to shy away from controversy nor self-indulgent twaddle, I'm just going to come out with it. Have I lost my lustre? In fact, did I ever have lustre? It seems in the past couple of months my comments have plummeted to an extent which makes me wonder if I am past my blogging sell by date. Obviously I do not want to encourage commenting for commenting's sake - I sometimes read blogs which garner dozens of comments, the bulk of which read something along the lines of "Me too!", which, frankly, what's the fucking point? That then leads us to the issue of my apparent irrelevance, in that no one is provoked to comment because they have nothing more to offer than a trite, "Me too!"
I do try to make things at least mildly interesting on here, exercise in failure as that may be. I drastically underestimated the instant narrative that infertility provides. There are always things to talk about when barren - treatments, inconsiderate fertiles, wonky vajays, horny husbands when your sex drive is shit, other peoples' babies, infertility in the media, insane hormonal changes, hot doctors, mean doctors, syringe addiction, the list goes on. Now, I'm a mother and though I could surely blog all P all the time, who wants to read that? I try to maintain some sense of balance, blogging about anything my mind might settle upon, but maybe I'm not choosing my topics properly. That, or I'm choosing them properly and just not writing them well, which is the more likely situation given my slippery turd brain.
I'm not searching for compliments. In a lot of areas of my life I'm far too arrogant for my own good, so ego stroking is far from necessary. In fact, I'm all up for constructive criticism. Seriously, tell me where I'm going wrong. Please feel free to say something anonymously, which, as I have mentioned before, would be entirely anonymous because my fat ass is far too lazy to do any research comparing stats and comment times. The mere thought makes me want to retire to my sofa and eat a vat of swedish fish.
Please realise that I am well aware that the melodrama meter is at about a ten here, and I hate myself for even caring enough to write this post. Seriously, I should get a fucking life, right? I was thinking about this at work today, because who needs to focus on HE targets, admissions stats, and the like when you can agonise over your blog popularity crashing and burning? I think the issue is that I have found such a community through blogging, one which I lack in my real life. I have friends, but to be honest no one I know in my every day life makes me feel as comfortable as I do within bloglandia. It's beyond sad that I find myself relating more to women I've never met, but I have so much more in common with all of you than I ever seem to with "real" women.
It isn't as simple as infertility uniting us all. I read and comment on a fair amount of non-IF blogs, and believe it or not some non-IFers even read this blog. I don't know, through writing at such great length about a variety of topics over a span of time you feel as if you get to know people, even if there isn't that common thread of infertility. I often wish that the people in my real life and blogging life were switched, with the blogging folks becoming "real", and the "real" in my life simply streaming words on a computer screen.
Now that I've outed myself as a complete social outcast who relies solely on internet communication, where do I even go from here? Shall I go stroke some of my fur babies? Write some more NKOTB fanfic? Cry?
So I love you all - a sad proclaimation I've made recently with little reaction, surprise, surprise. Please do let me know what I can do to make you love me again, anonymously or not. Don't turn me into that angry ex-girlfriend again, sneaking into your house at night to gaze maniacally (but with adoration!) at you whilst you sleep. I will totally do it, because remember, no one will ever love you like I do.