My imaginary friends

Dooce and her husband, Jon, have separated.

I do not know these people, personally. I have never met them, never been in a huge convention hall and heard them speak on a panel, and likely never will.

But I have been reading their blogs and looking at photos they have taken for umpteen years; they are a regular part of my week-to-week, just like that guy who used to ride the No. 10 bus out of Midtown Station to downtown every morning with me, Art. He had a heart attack and was gone for six weeks. I was worried sick and I had never even seen a picture he had taken.

I’m unspeakably sad about Heather and Jon’s troubles.

Which I guess might sound weird, but there it is.

Many of my closest friends today are people who I would not know were it not for the miracle of modern telecommunications. Many of my oldest friends, people I have known since childhood, are people I keep up with via the Internet. I see my own brothers and sister online more than I do in person.

It’s a big, big world, but the Internet has made it so tiny.

Ah, well. Back to the data mines.

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About S.

Reader, writer, talker, knitter, picture taker, tennis player, music lover, Southerner.
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2 Responses to My imaginary friends

  1. Shani says:

    I was just trying to get my head around that myself.

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