There was a time when many of us had never heard of blogs. We had no idea what blogging was all about. But through word-of-mouth or however we happened to stumble on to blogging, many of us found something satisfying and rewarding about getting our thoughts down and publishing it out there for all to see. Blogging gave people who only dreamed of getting published a venue where random strangers can run across their creation and maybe pause long enough to read a paragraph or two. That is all what most of us could hope for.

Some of us secretly hoped no one would ever come across our writing and peek into our souls. But at the same time, we all had that small niggle within where we hoped someone would notice and actually validate that maybe our writing is worth reading after all. Then a comment or two started filtering in and we were like teenagers whose crush is reading their slam book. Butterflies flutter in our belly as we wonder, ‘Does he get it?” “Does he see the real me now?” “Does he like what he sees?” And we write more, we bare more of ourselves, hoping they will come back and maybe even learn to love us. Blogging is addicting like that.

Then the blogging explosion happened. We heard of bloggers who are now earning lots of money. Some bloggers have turned pro, where this became their full time jobs. We heard of bloggers who gained fame and are now hobnobbing with the rich and famous. We heard of bloggers who became ‘real’ authors because of their blog. We see them now on the book circuits talking about their success from blogging to books. At least one that I know of had their blog made into a movie.

Fame and fortune from blogging. Who can resist? I admit, I have blogging envy. I want to make lots of money too! I want to be famous. I want Oprah to invite me to her show and talk about what a terrific blogger I am. I want to walk the red carpet at least once.

I am not alone in my envy. There are, apparently a lot of us out there. The difference is, I am still where I am when I started. Largely blogging for myself, churning out my own convoluted content and still welcoming every compliment that comes in the comments and still crying over mean criticisms then deleting them. Yeah, that’s still me. I haven’t gone out of my way to reach for more than just having the venue to spout off about me. So no, I’m not rich from blogging yet nor am I famous.

What I am rich in though, and famous with, are the friends that I have made from blogging. I made some good friends that I have never met through blogging. And for anyone who claims that friendships made on the blogosphere are shallow, superficial and will never amount to nothing, they are wrong. The people that I have made friends with are precious and they are as loyal and as loving as the friends we have outside of cyberspace. These friends will be there when you need them… whether it’s a shoulder to cry on or a posse to watch your back, they are there for you. So I guess, you can say, yeah, I’ve got it made as a blogger. I have riches and facebook fame. What more could I ask for, right?

This is just me again, talking to myself. Hope you enjoyed eavesdropping.

So how does a month and a half fly by and you don’t even notice it? It seems like it was only days ago when I posted last. At the time, I was grappling with keeping my emotions and reactions to negativity in check. I did find the answers I was looking for. It calmed me down and it also helped that there was so many things going on with the girls that I kept busy most of the time. They are still busy, what with the school year ending and Asi graduating from high school and gearing up for college, my plate is full.

This was also prom time and with two high school girls, you can imagine the flurry of activities leading up to the big days. You’d think it was a wedding coming up and not a mere prom. It makes me wonder if we drove my mother this way during this time?

Right now, I am still sorting some things out. I worry how we’ll pay for college. I worry how my baby will fare out on her own. I worry that my youngest is not getting enough experience to fulfill her potential. I worry how my social butterfly will handle her senior year. I worry about the house, about the husband, about the garden and everything else in between. I worry that my gray hair and wrinkles are increasing exponentially with every new worry. And yet I worry. Because I suppose that is what I do best. And even with a plateful of blessings, I worry.