Back and forth and back again

Despite the number of years that I’ve been wearing this deep groove into the blogging treadmill, I still don’t appear to have grasped the fundamental point that us bloggers are really not half as important as they/we think they/we are. Nor the fundamental point that the sum total of someone’s existence is not greatly enhanced thanks to discovering the minutiae of my life (or what I choose to reveal about my life). And especially the fundamental point that nobody should unduly care if I happen to disappear from my site for a few days and stop putting words together in a pretence at establishing some coherent thoughts. There are more exciting things to do elsewhere, after all. That paint over there, for instance - I’m sure you need to watch it drying, don’t you?

So what I would like to ask of you, my more realistic and grounded readers, is that you should slap me repeatedly upside the head if you even catch me apologising for not updating these humble pages that reside in a dim and distant corner of the internet somewhere. Because I am just a blogger, and that is so unimportant as to rank well below the fact that it rained yesterday and it has been sunny today. Or that the world is facing certain environmental disaster and we’re all going to die. Or, indeed, that the Pope is undeniably Catholic.

Two paragraphs in, and I’ve finally remembered the reason for this entry: I’m sorry I haven’t been updating here recently and that it’s all gone rather quiet.

Oh. Oh damn and blast and damn again. Do you see what I did there? I barely managed to pause for breath before lapsing into self-important blog speak, before giving voice to the apology that is not needed because no one should really care that I haven’t been updating. Because, well, maybe I went out and got a life, woke up and smelt the coffee and sniffed the flowers, luxuriated in the fresh air and did exciting things that don’t involve sitting in front of a computer screen writing meaningless drivel for other people who should, like me, be getting out more.

I didn’t do any of the above, of course. But I could have done. Mmhmm. Yes. That’s right. The fact that I didn’t is entirely beside the point, and should be left beside the point and roundly ignored. See that point? Ignore it, please. Point? Consider yourself ignored.

My life, such as it is, currently involves a great deal of walking up and down between parallel bars using, in place of my lower right leg, the clumsy rigid metal pole welded to a heavy plastic socket that was so proudly displayed in a previous post. The activity goes something like this. Walk up. Turn, whilst clinging to bars for dear life. Pause. Stare at blank wall. Concentrate hard. Walk back. Turn, whilst clinging to bars for dear life. Pause. Stare at opposite blank wall. Concentrate hard. Walk up. Turn, whilst clinging to bars for dear life. Pause … well, you get the idea, I’m sure. It’s as excessively exhausting as it sounds.

Passing my time in this way, whilst undoubtedly positive as regards getting me back to my dancing days as a prima ballerina, does not provide very much in the way of rich source material for blogging, particularly as I’m extremely determined that this site must never turn into a prime example of the hitherto unknown genre of Legblogging. A Legblog, as I’m sure you’ll agree, has the potential to be as fearsome and distasteful as the now almost ubiquitous Sexblog - minus the moist and salacious bits, but with even more breathless huffing and puffing - but I do not want An Unreliable Witness to degenerate into such predictable laziness.

So repeat after me. This is not a Legblog. This is not a Legblog. This is not a Legblog. This is not a Legblog. This is not a Legblog. A Legblog this is not. Legblog. Not. No. My life is about much more than the fact that I am currently trying to learn how to use a piece of mechanical technology in place of the flesh and bone that used to be there. Yes, it is. This is not a Legblog, then. Got that? Good.

Yet at the same time, I really am quite knackered from spending my days engaged in clumsy but hopefully highly athletic staggering back and forth, and thus I can’t think of much else to write about.

Fortunately, though, you’ll never catch me apologising for a dearth of posts or a run of generally uninspiring content like all those other bloggers do. Not me. I would never do that. I’m far too original and inventive and cutting edge and profound and …

Oh. Oh damn and blast and damn again. Again.

Or to be even more pithy: bugger.