Interesting. I spent more than an hour updating my blog roll in a failed attempt to make it more manageable. And that was without much reading. I deleted blogs that don't seem to be on anymore. And some that I liked but knew I might not read regularly. It was surprisingly emotional. I was flooded with memory.
I can barely imagine getting it together to write anymore. Even with a reduced blog roll I don't have an hour an hour a day to read.
And it's more than time. It's about how I experience reading and writing. I try not to be overly precious but I feel. A lot. Of everything. About everything.
I made a new friend last year. We're on the same bus/train combo. The other day she talked to me about not liking blogs. She didn't understand why anyone would want to write about their lives on line and she didn't understand understand why anyone would want to read about them. She didn't trust it. It felt superficial. Her arguments were compelling. I have sometimes been put off by things that people write. And I wrote some really dopey stuff in my time. Personal blogging is fraught. Better to be a pundit, I suppose.
But I have met some amazing people and I love reading about their lives.
There are things I need to be doing. I'm trying to decide what needs to be done (water the plants, pack stuff for lunches, clean up) and stuff I want to be do (clean the back room, clean up a lot). I might just bag it all and take a nap.