On Wednesdy afternoon I was counting days. I realized next week was Friday the 13th and maybe I could try to finish, or at least reach some milestone in, Life After by then. So somewhat positive hopeful thinking.
This morning I was willing to accept that everything was over, I'd shutter Stealing Commas, drop out of school, accept that I'm never going to get the money that I need to stay in my home, see whether I I was forced out by running out of heating oil, or finally being so delinquent on payments that my mom took off her mom-hat and putting on her unpaid-landlord-hat first, and hope that I could find some meaning and success the new life as a homeless person that has proven so elusive in my life as a poor blogger who is trying to hold on to the middle class life that she started out in.
(One can maintain a middle class life while poor, it's getting one in the first place that's generally impossible.)
Now I'm not feeling quite as down about everything, but I'm still pretty much fucked.
That doesn't make for productive writing. And while some readers have kept on coming back (thank you so much, there are not words for how much it means to be), I can see the stats for the blog. I've been losing readers. I can also count the comments on posts, but that leaves out the lurkers which is suboptimal.
This post isn't going to change anything. If people had money that they could donate they have done it the last twenty times I talked about how bad things are getting. So I'm not asking for money.
Things fall apart, the miracle is that they've held together this long.
This is just a heads up. This morning I was ready to close the blog and give up. It could happen again. It almost certainly will happen again. What's less clear is if I'll be able to stop back from it next time, and the time after, and the time after that.
I don't know.