HERE'S THE MISCILLANEOUS PART

For more than a while now, I felt the restlessness of anonymity. As a writer, I can't imagine a more damaging illness to take hold, but it truly has. I have made a concerted effort to expand my readership. I handed out sooooooo many cards to strangers, that I had a new batch made up. I used social media to try and spread the awareness of what I write, yet the results show there is not much interest.

This could be due to many reasons. Maybe I am not that compelling. Maybe I write enough on Facebook to satisfy the urge, which limits what I post regularly. Maybe I just realize that few listen. For whatever the reason, it is the reality of my current situation. I am not frustrated, disappointed, or pouting. I find it amusing that, as I will cross 35,000 visits to this site this month, I can't admit to the possibility that ANOTHER 35,000 will happen. Time will tell.

What will help my attitude going forward is my complete reversal of attempting to increase readership. By not focusing on that dream, I feel like I can be better at being inspired. When inspired, the words come easy. They flow like someone else it tapping the keys. When I go back months (or even years!) later, I still feel proud of what I wrote. This is the exact opposite of the CRAP I write when I'm not moved.

I will also limit my social media involvement. Writing with deep thought on FB or twitter has made me very aware of my limitations. Just as in the real world, my ability to inspire is much less than I hoped. When I saw it years ago, that I WASN'T John Wayne, it was a harsh wake-up from the dream of who I wanted to be. After some uncomfortable discussions with myself, I decided to listen to me for a change and adjust my expectations. It figures that the only person listening to me is ME.  Oh well.... at least I am a fan!

In a completely related topic, I have also realized that my attraction to a certain awesome young lady has ended up an utter failure. My unrelenting enthusiasm for what COULD be, once again clouded what really WAS. In seeing the scope of my blindness in the writing world, my eyes also opened to the rest of my surroundings. They DIDN'T see the main missing ingredient, companionship, as an obvious clue to why.

What can I truly offer anyone at this time? Mom continues to regress. That diminishes my time available for anyone else. Rather than dump on anyone else MY troubles, I will regress into the routine Mom has created for me. I will appreciate the many moments of joy and overall happiness. I will gladly devote my energies to her because she deserves to be taken care of, no matter what is required. I will look at this in a positive way and not mope around or become resentful for being put in the position. One day, if I am lucky, I will be viewed as a man that is needed, wanted, and desired. Just not today.

As I approach yet another birthday, the insignificance grows. I haven't had much hoopla on the day for years, maybe decades.  When I get a note or message celebrating day 1 of ME, I am humbled and appreciative of the good friend I have. I have been lucky to be around some truly GREAT human beings and only wish I could be the same for them.

Am I happy?

No.

Will I be able to FIND some "happy" while I am immersed in my life as it is?

Of course.

Much of my joy will come from a certain young lady that continues to shrink in her abilities, yet stays a compassionate, smiling, and quite helpless woman that needs me as I needed her all those many years ago. Some of my joy will be imagined, in dreams of a "someday" and "someone special". A small part of my joy will be felt as I post something here I really truly love. If you stop by and happen to love it too, then it's even better. Even if I don't hear about it.