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Please skip this one and go on to the next……….

Having had a little time on my hands this week – they do say that the devil makes work for idle hands – I took to trawling the internet, reading personal blogs; professional blogs; news blogs; bad blogs; good blogs, blogs that made me want to kill myself; blogs that made me want to go out an kill other people (especially the blogger). There were also blogs on how to write, market, advertise and make money on blogs. Finally, I came to the conclusion that I might be short-changing my readers – those few who have faithfully stuck with me through the ups and downs of my little life.
I thank you.

I don’t have enough internal links or external links, one blog kindly pointed out. Yes, I felt judged; which inevitably led to a mild bout of depression, and a spate of drinking and drug taking. Just kidding, I don’t do that any more.

I also don’t monetize – what the hell does that mean? Having found the answer, I had to admit that I hadn’t considered the idea of creating a second income stream my placing Ads on the site.
Me bad!

Would I become an internet sensation and millionaire inside a month? M-m-m-m-m…… probably not as I’m, (so it would appear) writing for a finite demographic.
Shock, horror.

Please don’t feel insulted, it’s nothing personal. It doesn’t mean that you have finitely small sex organs. I’m sure that your generative tackle is perfect and beautiful. But it does mean that my outpourings will only ever reach the ears of a few members of the blog reading population – so I might as well not consider the monetizing option anyway.
Well that’s sorted. Phew.

The catalogue of my short comings and failings as a blogger, reads like our monthly shopping list. I had no idea that the process, practice and production of a simple memoir would be so fraught with potholes; and I appear to have fallen into most, if not all of them.

After eighty-seven posts (and counting), is it too late to go back and start again? If I did, would I actually write the tale any differently?

Is it the tale that is wrong – or the telling?
Is it too long – or too brief?
Too hung up on details – or too prone to ramble down murky alleyways?
Too matter of fact – or too full of pointless, unnecessary drivel?

There isn’t unfortunately, a program that will analyse this blog, and spit out an answer this simple girl can understand.
What was it my teachers used to write on my school reports? Could do better!
One can but try.

So, why has it become so important, to this rank amateur, for my scribbling to reach a wider audience? Why do I suddenly feel the need to unburden myself of information that might, and probably should be kept close to my chest – to more and more people?
The answer, I suppose, is that blogging is like a drug, and I’m now an addict. Which is not surprising, since I’ll admit to you (and only to you), that I have a mildly addictive personality.

I know, and you know what my original reasons were. But as time goes on I find myself questioning those reasons, and find among them a scattering of falsehoods and self-deceit. But be that as it may, I cannot, or am unwilling to stop.

If the incident of the Italian has taught me anything about myself, it is that I thrive on suspense, danger, risk and the chance of discovery.

I know there are a few professors and students of human psychology out there, who would, if they were not busy living their lives rather than reading my little blog, be saying to themselves – she wants to be found out; she is an attention seeker; she needs some serious psychoanalysis; she’s a nut-job, delusional, schizophrenic…..

Most of these chargers I might not be able to defend with any degree of certainty. But to the last charge? Really? Well, the voices in my head haven’t as yet told me to do really nasty things. If anything they are the voices of reason, the voice of the little girl who used to go to confession and take the sacrament.

Come on people – how many of you can positively state that now and then you aren’t aware of a small argument going on inside your heads between the varying political parties of your personality.

Have you never had to stop and wait, while the little voices question the rationale of whatever you are about to do; weighing the risks against the benefits, the danger against the possible exhilaration, the joy against the chances of discovery, the sexual desire against the possibility of post-coital regret.

There you go. You do hear voices. All you have to do is turn up the volume a little and listen.
That’s it. See what I mean?

Welcome to the world of the newly schizophrenic. But of course I am only playing devils advocate. You nice people are all very balanced and normal.
Aren’t you?

I suppose at the end of the day, it’s all a question of how often does the voice of reason win out against the voice that screams: “Do it! Do it! Throw yourself off the cliff, the water is soft and the rocks are a long way down.” Or “My God he’s handsome, why don’t we mate with him?”

I could go on, but to do so would carry the risk of boring my audience. Hello! Is anybody there???

As I said – Please skip this one and go on to the next……….  Oops, there aren’t any more…. yet.

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