Dear Friends who live in my computer,
It is not because I am so busy that my hair is falling out (it is). It is not because I don't care anymore (I totally do). It is not because I don't have anything to say (oh, you better believe I do). It is not because I have stopped loving you (you are about all I have left). "It" is because I am not like Avitable or Lisa or even Julie.
You see, Nina lives out there in space and her words bounce off technology of some kind (Nina is no scientist) and then her words land in your Google Reader. This is how Nina has always interfaced with you. If you've been paying close (... really close, eyeball toasting close) attention, Nina's anonymity is eroding as a direct result of Nina's words not bouncing off the technology thingy. (This might be a good time to stop talking about myself in the third person).
Lately, my words have been bouncing off the faces of real people, and some of my in real life friends and a few family members have stumbled into this internet diary. Everything I might say I can no longer say because Nina (I) has wandered too close to the atmosphere of earth and she (I) is getting all burned up and dead upon entry. I can't talk like this. I need to be anonymous, and I am not anymore.
I would not have survived (truth, not hyperbole) this year without your support and encouragement, and I am kicking myself square in my virtual ass (which one can only do when one is two people and one of them is imaginary) for letting things get of hand. It was probably inevitable, but it hurts like hell. I will really miss you (us).*
* After I have imaginarily slept with like 9 other figments of my imagination, who knows? Maybe I will come crawling back here and beg you to take me back. I hear that's what most people do when they break up with their computers. Let's both just assume you'll still have me if I get good and cleaned up and do my best beg and grovel.