Archives of Our Lives

I like blogging.  I like my blog.  I like readers, even those sneaky ones who haven’t introduced themselves (I know you’re out there!).  I like you all, unless I don’t (but you would know if I didn’t like you—trust me).

Since I’m such a fan of all y’all, I feel the need to acknowledge when you leave comments on my blog.  When I first started blogging, I never even considered replying to comments—I didn’t know that was a standard thing to do.  And anyway, the main commenters, at first, were family and close friends who I’d usually talk to on the phone before the day was through, so I didn’t need to address their comments online.

Later, however, when strangers started finding my blog, I felt compelled to acknowledge their comments—it seemed only right.  Usually, I’d just visit their own blogs, read about their lives, and comment myself.

But one day a while later, I had the crazy idea of  replying to every single comment anyone left on my blog.   I’d go through and write a response to all the comments, and post them IN the comment section, so anyone interested could be privy to the “conversations.”  I deemed it “Reader Appreciation Day,” and by the end of it, I swore I’d never do it again—how exhausting, I thought back then.  I’d never before taken on a blogging project of such colossal proportions.  Unfortunately, I was a little hooked.  Despite taking all day, I felt like I had given back to my readers—like I had dished out some of the respect they deserved.  And when I responded to comments, I could actually get some interesting dialogues going on. My blog became more of a forum in the comment section, and it was fun.  So I kept it up.  It started out as a one-day extravaganza, but I found myself getting in on the comment action more frequently, ’til the point where it seemed like I never spent more than five minutes away from a computer screen.  (Yikes.)

Lately, though, I’ve come to a different way of thinking.  Only the very most exceedingly faithful of readers actually check my blog more than once a day—I know I never check peoples’ blogs twice, unless there is a particularly hot debate going on in the comment section.  And of those very most exceedingly faithful readers, probably an even smaller percentage actually look at the comments.  I bet a bunch of you have made comments on my blog and never realised I left a response to you.  And it made me sad to think of all that effort I put into my responses, when most people would likely never see them.

So I started emailing my responses (because heaven forbid I write even one word that goes unread in its lifetime—good heavens, I’m vain).  And I have been ever since.  In fact, I try very hard to reply to every comment I get (save those comments left with anonymous email addresses, or the very short comments like, “Sweet!,” which I acknowledge for their support of my blog, but I realise aren’t necessarily expecting anything in response).  I still maintain a lovely dialogue with a lot of readers, and I still feel like I’m letting people know I appreciate their support.  It works for me.

But does it work for you, readers?  That’s what I want to know.  In fact, if you could answer a few short questions, I’d be much obliged.

1.  Did you ever realise I used to reply to comments in the comment section?

2.  If so, did you care?

3.  If so, do you miss that?

4.  If not, are you glad I email responses instead?

5.  If not, is it because you feel too much pressure?

6.  If so, do you think I should do away with the comment section altogether, leaving only the most diligent of readers to go to all that effort of (gasp!) emailing me if they have something to say?

7.  If you hate this questionnaire, do you also hate me?  Just say so.

These are just some thoughts I’ve had kicking around in my mind lately.  I want this blog to be a happy place, not a high-pressure car dealership place (though I should offer free hot dogs on my next blogiversary—that could be a fun party!).

One thing I’d like to add is that, when emailing my responses, I tend to get a little more personal with my readers.  This may or may not be a good thing, depending on how intimate you prefer to be with random blog strangers.  Sorry if it bugs you.  Yay if it doesn’t.

Also, sometimes my responses are kind of funny, and I do hate that I don’t get to share these bits of wit with the rest of the world.  Like how, in my last post, Lindsay commented, saying, “And you look lovely with your hair all one color! You’re one of those annoying girls who can pull off both spectrums of the hair color world.”

And my response was, “Lindsay, I know that you only get annoyed with the best of the best girls (and I don’t blame you—I’m the same way!), so I will of course take your comment as a supreme compliment.  Thank you for being annoyed with me.”

So please, do pipe in.  For these matters are weighing heavily on my mind today, and I’d like someone else to tell me what to do, please.

***No ‘Poo Update:

Day One of the Great No ‘Poo Experiment has gone swimmingly. [If you have no idea what I’m talking about, feel free to catch up here and here—or just get the jist of it, which is that I’m not using shampoo anymore.  Ever.]   This morning, I took a shower and used only water to clean my hair.  I scrubbed the roots thoroughly with my fingertips, and rinsed with hot, then cold water.  The one thing I noticed is that, where I would normally use conditioner to pre-detangle my hair while in the shower, instead I used just water.  It was a little more tangly upon first exiting the shower, but a wide-tooth comb made quick work of the tangles.  It was a minor—not major—inconvenience.

After showering, I blow-dried my hair (on warm, not hot {baby steps!}) and I did use a tiny squirt of hair spray to set my bangs.  (But don’t worry—I’m working on a formula for homemade hair spray, made with honey, egg yolks, sugar, and tears from baby birds who live in the nests outside my house.  Results tomorrow.)

My hair was not as shiny as usual, but that’s because usually I finish it off with BioSilk™ Silk Therapy, which is nothing but oil anyway.  Soon enough, my hair will be producing the right amount of oil, and I suspect shine will be abundant.  (Vain, remember?)

The Verdict: So far, so awesome.  And here are pictures from every angle to prove it. (Again with the vanity.)  But seriously, I want to document this for those of you out there who are using me as a lab rat.  So views from every angle are necessary.

Of course, this is only day one.  What do I know?