I look back over old posts and I remember.  I remember when this blog was, well, not hugely popular, but popular enough.  I had readers who commented with me, with each other, and made my posts far funnier with their input.  When I read old posts, sometimes I surprise myself and laugh.  I guess I was funnier then, or maybe I just had better ideas, or maybe, I know, maybe I just wrote more.  You take a few months or a year or two here and there off and it’s like people just don’t wait around or something.

Anybody here?

Though I think it was more than that.  At some point, maybe I outstayed my welcome.  I am frankly not sure what to do with myself anymore.  I’m not hugely depressed anymore.  I’m just – here.  I haven’t worked outside the home in nearly two years.  This blog kept me going through years of work that was so difficult to maintain along with anything else.  My readers, my blog friends, kept me going.  

This blog got noticed because I covered some of the worst books of all time, 50 Shades of Grey.  But from there, other stories from my life came, “funny stories of angst”, as my counselor said.  Sad Pony and Squirrel, stupid TLC coverage, Boppo the clown, a sparkle pony, some creature with a lightbulb for a butt, stories told with Disney princess dolls in the snow, making fun of Dragon Tales and earning the ire of its crazed fans, the murder of virtual people, and a little bit of politics.  I was Alice, someone wittier and I don’t know, hipper than the real me.  I’m not sure if anyone even uses “hip” anymore.  Whatever.

I’m still here.  Yay.

I miss the old days though.  Some bloggers I knew way back then are still out there, and they still come by here, and I am thankful for that.  One or two decided they hated me.  Others, I’m not sure.  Maybe they got writer’s block and just stopped.  Maybe they just got lives and drifted away.  I’m not sure, but they aren’t here.  I know people still read, or bots at least.  Something.  I know I don’t write enough, or often enough, but at times I wonder if that would even matter.

I wonder if I matter.

My girls, my Things, who have been such a part of this blog are growing up so fast.  My eldest is starting college, and my youngest, my Thing Two, is a sophomore in high school.  They were so little when I started.  Before I know it, they will be ready to fly away.  That is as it should be, and I hope I have prepared them.  But I’m not sure I will be prepared to be left in the nest.  Sure, I have my husband, Mr. Alice, but it’s not the same.  They are my purpose.  I am a mother.  I’m not sure what else I am.

I want to be Alice.  But I don’t think Wonderland will ever be what it was again.  And I don’t know where else to go.