I never was the kind of girl who made the first move.
No, I was the one who wasted years of my life sitting by the phone, waiting for him to call. And him. And him. And him....
Sigh. If we'd only had cell phones back then...
And I'm still that way today.
I'm not usually the one to make the first move. Even on Facebook, I'll stumble across an old friend, an old boyfriend, and old drinking buddy... But I'll wait for him to friend me rather than make the first move.
I wonder if that makes me cyber shy or something.
So it's not exactly in my nature to beg people to visit this little site or to become a dutiful follower.
But I'd really like you to.
It's not that I think I'm the world's greatest writer. Certainly not the world's greatest blogger.
But I could be.
The part of my brain that has been carrying me all these years, the creative part, the good part, has been turned off for a while. This was not by choice.
The powers-that-be at The Times-Picayune decided that my sports writing skills were no longer needed. Now I re-write the police blotter. And receipts.
So this little cyber space has become my new outlet. And you, my (as of today) seven followers, have become my audience. It's not that I don't love all seven of you, but I would like more.
Call it a cyber inferiority complex.
Of course, I know that not everyone likes to read pointless stories about my life and my family and my job.
But if you give me a chance, I might just entertain you once in a while.
But even if you don't, I'll keep writing.
I need the practice.