I was nine years old when I discovered that I am socially inept.

My family had just moved to a new town and I was entering the fifth grade in a new school. A public school. Besides the sheer ecstasy of shedding the hideous green and gold plaid jumpers, this would be an opportunity to make new friends.

I didn’t make even one.

In later years I met with slightly better success, but despite usually having a best buddy, I decided that friends were highly overrated. By college I had become a loner. It suited my temperament better and it made Christmas significantly cheaper.

I promise, this is going somewhere.

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As I sift through my assortment of letters, cursing the prevalence of junk mail, I recall a time not so very long ago when a person’s worth as a human being was measured by the quantity of mail she received.

I was in college then and I was green and grateful. It was a simpler time. A time when a fat Discover card offer would have made my heart sing. We received our mailbox assignments with trembling excitement during our first day of freshmen orientation. Never could we imagine the hell and heartbreak those mailboxes would cause us.

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I wish I were one of those every day posting people.

There are some blogs that I check regularly, sometimes even more than once a day! I can’t explain it except to surmise that it is a combination of poor memory, lack of hand-eye coordination, and the knowledge that a few of those authors are every day posting people.

The writers that post every single day have my admiration and my loyalty. I am filled with joy when I see that new daily post. I relish each word. Because not only do the every day posting people bring order, routine, and predictability to this crazy world with their publishing habits, but each and every post is good. Just when you think, “Wow, that was an amazing entry. They just don’t get better than that,” WHAMO! they hit you with another post even funnier, more articulate, and more intelligent than the last.

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