One of my blog friends sent me a box of teabags in the post. She didn’t want them and I do, and I can’t buy this brand in Thailand. I told her when she got to the post office, if the postage was exorbitant, please don’t send them: STOP, retrace your steps, and save them for when Auntie Maureen comes round for a cuppa. Or maybe let them rot at the back of a cupboard…
I was very over excited to receive them – they’d been on a big postal adventure, all facilitated by a couple of comments while blogging.
I saw that she’d spent a lot of money on postage and had sent them anyway. So, I remembered something that she wished for in her blog once and I went out yesterday and bought it for her.
But then, I felt like a bit anxious, although I couldn’t quite work out why. I thought about it and then I realized. It reminded me, when I first started reading blogs I kept quiet, and never commented. I kept coming back to a few people’s lives and listened, read and enjoyed, but I didn’t say anything.
And this is because it made me feel a little bit like a creepy stalker.
She (and the other few I read) didn’t know I was there and I felt dishonest. I felt like I was peeping through their curtains uninvited.
Now that I’ve joined the novel racers and introduced myself I feel more legitimate. (My mother would be so proud of my good manners). But it interested me that I’d once felt this way. I’d quite forgotten.