I'm writing this even though I've already written it and am not actually here.
Ok, I'm here in the cosmic sense... just not online writing this... because I already wrote it. Err.
Previously. Sort of thingy.
Ok, let me back up...
This week I had to have my tires rotated and my oil changed... which is code for "medical crap." And because I knew I'd be down for the count I decided to pre-write two blog posts, save them, and use the delightful little "pre-post" option brought to you by Google, Blogger, and the letter Q. Cool, ennit?
So here I am blogging, even though I'm not. Technology, she is a wicked pistol!
But it got me thinking about why many people-- maybe even all people-- write. In a sense, on some level, don't we all hope to leave behind a part of ourselves on the page? Will Shakespeare ever really vanish? Seems unlikely. Whatever condition his mortal coil may be in, his words live on.
I wonder how long Google/blogger would leave a blog that was neglected sitting there, its archives speaking into the internet infinity? I wonder if I could pre-blog 5200 posts, predate them to post once a week, and live on for 100 years? I wonder if anyone would still read them?
Don't panic... I'm too lazy and nowhere near that disciplined. But it is an interesting notion. How many diaries are still making a difference, long after their authors have passed? Anne Frank comes to mind.
So anyway, I'm not here. But my words are. And I am still here-here... like HERE in the cosmic, walking-around here sense... well more laying around. Laying around and being a pain in the backside, most likely. Coughing. Watching sad movies. Demanding soup.
Blogging, even without actually blogging.
Man, that really IS cool! Even if nobody reads it. I blog, therefore I am. Someody's eventually gotta hit this thing accidentally, right?