Subtropical Lady

Where Pelicans Fly
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2022-12-24 08:31:37 (UTC)

Lots of Views

Some people may wonder why I chose to share so much of my life in public diaries/journals/blogs. Well, I think that in at least some ways we’re a lot more alike than people realize. I think many people can relate to, and maybe even find comfort in some of the things I say and some of the experiences I share. Some certainly wouldn’t agree with or like some of it but no one can please everyone and we’re not all 100% alike either. I don’t aim to please or see journaling as a contest, but if my writings can help inspire or enlighten just a few individuals, why not? Even if it’s just some bored lonely soul with nothing better to do than read about my often mundane but sometimes exciting life, great.

Definitely got a lot of views on here, though no new followers. Every single public post was clicked on except for the few I just published. I can’t help but wonder if they just skimmed through or if they actually read everything. I don’t think they could read all those entries that fast. They would certainly have to have a lot of time on their hands. Maybe they were just bored and randomly clicked through or were looking for something specific, though I don’t know what. I can’t see who visits me there. They could have come in from a Google search for all I know.

I like to keep my PB journal MO because then I know it’s other members reading and didn’t stumble on to me by accident through a Google search.

I’ve also been getting more story viewers on Facebook that aren’t friends. As with here, can’t say who they are. Probably group members.

I had a dream that my mother and her father were still alive and Aly too. Aly and I were sitting in the back of my grandfather’s car as he drove us to my mother’s house. He accused me of being distracted and I explained to him that I was having surgery soon. When we pulled up to the house, I pulled out a wad of cash my mother gave me and asked my grandfather if mom paid him for picking me up and he said yes.


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