So, you want to hear something weird?

This one guy leaves a comment on my blog suggesting that I read this other Asian person's blog.

Didn't exactly think it was racist; skimmed the blog and thought, "Thanks, but no thanks. Not for me."

I mean, what makes something worth reading to another person, anyway?

You connect with what the other person thinks, right? And it really depends on what they're putting out there. I mean, I'm generally a malcontent, so I identify more with the people who are trying to lead authentic lives in an increasingly inauthentic world. (Alan Ball actually said that, but it always stuck with me, 'cause I thought it was a neat way of looking at the characters he created for Six Feet Under.)

But anyway, another guy writes in and goes, "Oh, how racist of this guy!" yadda yadda yadda.

See, the thing is, you have to leave your email address to leave a comment on this other blog, so...did they think I wouldn't remember the name of the Asian guy's blog and wouldn't clue in that this was the same person?

The weird thing is that they're now having a back-and-forth exchange through my other blog and it's like...okay...wait...is this supposed to be some weird inside joke on my expense or what? And who has that kind of time to waste?

I didn't really comment on either of their comments...what was there to write, anyway? This is the blog where I try to sort out all the muddled-up feelings I've got. Yes, other people read it, but to a large extent, they're not so much faithful readers so much as people who peer in every once in awhile 'cause I guess maybe the stuff I have to write about depression and loneliness and confusion are things that they've been thinking about, too.

There are some people I don't mind writing back to. And then again, there are those who leave comments not really expecting me to write anything back...what is there to write back? I'm not going to write something back for the sake of just writing. And then, there are others I'm just content to ignore 'cause I can't offer them any answers. That journal is for me and my "issues" as Commenter 1 put it.

If I knew all the answers, I probably wouldn't feel the way that I still do.

And yet...there are times when you kind of sense that the other person expects more out of you 'cause they think they know you based on what you've written...as if you're now friends or something.

And in the past, it used to be hard to ignore it and not respond 'cause even though you know there's no real connection, you're still aware of that the other person wants you to acknowledge them. Sort of like, "Yes. I see you."

And I guess that's what's lacking in real life, sometimes...it's like Thoreau said about how there are people who lead lives of quiet desperation. No kidding.

I guess we're all just looking to be reminded that we're alive and that we're not completely invisible.