I miss those days, years ago when I'd blog often and there were people who read and commented. Recently I came across an old post accompanied a wide array of voices via comments, including my mom, who wrote anonymously, but gave an unmistakable hint that it was her.

There was a time when I would write here in a bloggish way, thinking I was "getting" the form in how I free-wrote.  And there was a sphere of others who wrote, and we'd read each other's stuff, discuss, connect.

Sometimes it felt impersonal.  But compared to today's "social" media those communications were almost as genuine and quaint  as handwritten letters of old. Some of those friends from '06 are still actively with me, others linger inside me like imaginary friends of my childhood..

Mentioning my imaginary friends takes me back to this post from from '08, where I talk about Quigley. It includes a link to this piece from '05 about personas, which is maybe my entry here I think about more than any other.

Part of me wants to keep writing this entry.  Part of me knows I need to wind it down.