Pigeons

I am currently between notebooks in real life. I keep forgetting to pick up another one (from the drawer I've hid them in at work). In the meantime, I've been scribbling on any thing I can find when something noteworthy arrives in my head. This morning I had to use the back of my Hallmark 2008 datebook...I'm not sure when I picked one of those up, but I found it stuffed in the center console of my car. It was smashed between an old pack of Camel Lights and some mixtapes from the early 2000s. Anyway, these are the words I managed to scribble on my calendar at the stoplight of Grant and Blvd of the Allies:
"blog-people ?
unrequited love might be the only kind that's good for us
Pittsburgh Marathon 2009
pigeons"

Ok.
"blog-people ?"
I began wondering who reads this thing. My motivation for starting this online version was not necessarily a vain one. I mean, I didn't do it JUST so other people would read it. Maybe it was a selfish reason: I wanted to be able to use my computer at work to write. It feels more official than a beat-up Columbo. Of course, though, I enjoyed getting feedback from the courageous souls who stopped in here. Once I learned who WAS reading this blog, I considered who WASNT reading it.
If this had been a novel, would the same readers read. And the same non-readers, ignore? It seems like some people's motivations reflect a part of themselves that they would care to show the people they love (or would love, if possible).
If I have a blog (or any writing/creative outlet) to subconsciously (overtly) show certain persons that I am intelligent (not lazy...brilliant...i.e. worthy), but I know they arent reading it........anyway, Am I the disappointment or are they?
I think I like assuming that nobody reads this thing. It prevents me from censoring. Right now I can write whatever I want because I feel safe(-ish) that it's tucked neatly in some corner of the blogosphere.


Ugh...I gotta go do some work. I will finish (or start) this thought again later.