Wait, people actually read this shit?

Got two surprises the last few days.

Last night a friend and writer I respect a great deal told me he'd read my blog. He said it in passing, like, "So, I was reading your post the other day and thinking about it."

I had no idea he was reading it. My ego expanded like the heart of a supernova. My lips popped with the heat of the tiny explosion of gassy satisfaction like a hiccup of hydrogen processed in the furnace at the tiny heart of the empty, echoing vacuum of my cranium.

Then today, my best friend from my misspent youth in Switzerland asked how my Holidays were, "aside from a Marine sticking her head in your lap."

Someone quoth my shit! Holy shit! People actually read this stuff?! I was better prepared this time, and managed to keep the fires of ego banked and pleasingly glowy, rather than brainfarting all over the place.

Granted, they are my friends, and a certain level of interest in what I do is expected, as is the inverse, but as another of my friends once told me, "No one is going to be as interested in your shit as you are."

Now I know I gots ta be careful wit' muh writin'. Real people is readin' me.

All kidding aside, it is gratifying to know I do not scream into the void, my words falling unheard into the abyss