The Dregs of the Day . . . .
Last weekend, something happened of such earth-shattering significance, it about brought me to my knees. I am referring, of course, to the Sitemeter Black Out. Though I am able to go whole hours without checking my blog stats (it’s happened), this inability to access any information whatsoever caused such distress that I had to force myself not to check my blog (for comments and possible new followers) every two or three minutes.
Without Sitemeter, all I had left was comments or new followers to prove that my blog hadn’t sunk into the murky ocean of the blogosphere. Since I had neither the Whole Sorry Day Long the overall effect was as if I were being led down a darkened train shaft with a black hood over my eyes, plugs in my ears and cotton wadding in my mouth. I felt lost, adrift and completely isolated.
Less than three months ago, I didn’t even know what Sitemeter was. Is. Whatever. I was shocked—shocked, I say!--to discover how attached I had become to something so ephemeral and (supposedly) meaningless. Boo hoo!
I am not blaming you, gentle reader. It wasn’t as if I cried ALL day long. I am not even blaming Sitemeter, my kids for driving me to blog or my husband who has failed to stop me. Life happens, tragedy occurs, and for one day, this was my lot. What I can’t live with, however, is the niggling doubt that Sitemeter came back “the same”. Like Sam on Supernatural or Buffy from, um, Buffy, or Bella from Breaking Dawn (just a stab in the dark since I haven’t read it yet) there is this suspicion Sitemeter just isn’t operating from the same level of commitment.
First of all, there’s the matter of my daily hits. They simply aren’t up where they used to be prior to Sitemeter going off line. And then there’s, hmmmm, well, let’s see. Hmph! Well, I guess that’s it; my numbers are down. I could blame this downward spiral on school starting or, er, ummmm, on my posts being dull and lifeless, or on, uh . . . that’s all I’ve got. So, either Sitemeter is swallowing about half of my hits or I stink.
(If you disagree with the conclusion to which I have leapt, you can comment. Or if you agree that I stink, you can comment about that, too. Or become a follower. Or both. Or just visit. Or stalk. We tolerate stalkers here.)
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