Barren Mare

Tweeting with my coat on

When I was a kid, I vividly remember coming home from being out somewhere with my mother- probably from one of the endless trips to ballet lessons, flute lessons, voice lessons, Girl Scouts, drama club, gymnastics or visiting one of my friends- all of whom lived at least 45 minutes away. Bear in mind that I grew up in rural Driveforeversville, USA. My mother, without even taking off her coat, would immediately embark on a task, such as unloading the dishwasher or feeding the cat or heating up something on the stove. It's that last one I can recall so clearly- her small back in her bright red winter coat, stirring earnestly over the burners while I stood on the other side of the kitchen watching her and (obviously not doing much to assist, other than staying out of the way.)

For years, I never understood what would compel someone to behave that way- to be so frantic and consumed with chores that they couldn't even take time to get their outerwear off when coming inside. And then I became a mother. Tonight I caught myself opening the mail, unwrapping a smoothie carton to give to Botany, including precision straw work, unpacking her lunch bag and starting up the crockpot with tomorrow's dinner, before realising that I myself had failed to remove my own coat. Huh.

I'm sort of sick of blogging about how busy I am all the time, probably as much as you are tired of reading about it, but as a theme in my life, it is absolutely pervasive. It is definitely on the list of reasons (that I will soon share with you) as to why I am petrified- oops, I mean ambivalent, about having another kid. I often feel that if I am stretched any thinner, I will just become totally unglued. And then I worry that I am just a big, selfish whiner, and I should just get used to (and get over) the reality that parenting-at least in the early years- means No Time to Do Anything for Self, much less Remove Coat.

But more on that another time (if I ever finish writing the post.) In the meantime, I have discovered Twitter. Ah, Twitter. You know, I'd like to say that I was simply resisting it for ages for a number of reasons but the bottom line is that I just didn't get it. I mean, I knew roughly what it involved and I knew people that Tweeted or Twittered or whatever you call it, but frankly, I could not quite grasp what all the fuss was about. Or why anyone would actively want to do it.

And then it started to bug me that I didn't get it. I began to have this sneaking suspicion that everybody else in the entire Internetoverse had discovered something that I was too dense (or, erm, too lazy) to figure out. I found myself having entire conversations about it in my head- that is, my lack of Twittery- first, in the small spaces of the day when I was too tired to think about anything else, and then in the shower, driving to work, rocking Botany to sleep in the dark.

Finally it dawned on me that part of the problem was that before now, I wasn't really sure that anyone would be remotely interested in my micro-streams of consciousness. But then, I was thinking of the Real Me, not the Alter Ego that inhabits this blog and writes freely about all manner of things that people occasionally seem to find interesting. It also seemed a tidy solution for being able to spurt out those little clips that do occur to me but which I can't see a way to making into big long blog posts. So when I had the great epiphany to join the Twitter collective as Barren Mare*, it felt like I had solved some tremendous puzzle.

Which for everyone else is possibly like, "Yeah. Obviously. Duh".

Anyway, should you happen feel compelled to follow whatever it I have to say on a (hopefully more frequent) sound bite basis, the linky thing for doing so is now on the blog sidebar. Or you can just read the most recent entries when you visit here, thus throwing a few pence toward some ad revenue into my begging hat.

*I had actually considered at one point changing the name of the blog. But then, you know, it might be relevant again depending on how Project Second goes. And also, it seems a bit like bad luck. You know, like changing the name of a boat spells certain doom.

The rot within

Over the last week, my computer has developed some horrendous virus. The result is a machine tottering around like a deranged zombie, lurching uninvited into suspect websites before crashing out without warning midway through attempts at corrective navigation or experimental immunisation. It really is dire, not to mention tedious and frustrating.

I've tried several things to beat the bug but nothing is working so I think at this point I probably lack the technological whizzbangery to fix it. If my dad can't get it straightened out, I might have to take it to the computer doctor. However, it was become somewhat elderly anyway, so if all else fails, I will give it a decent burial and purchase something new (read: small, cheap and spritely). It's not exactly my ideal time to be buying a computer- there are, after all, still shoes to be bought for a forthcoming wedding- but living without a reliable means of internet access is not feasible either.  

My posting capacities will no doubt self-destruct in approximately thirty seconds, so I will keep it brief by telling you all is well here, and promising to be back one way or another very, very soon.

Peace

Ugh. I had all these grand plans of catching up with things over the holiday period; somehow I had this fuzzy notion that being off work for a couple weeks was going to help. Oh hahaha. Instead, while my sinus infection segues neatly into another ghastly chest cold, I've been in blue arse fly mode. Last minute presents! Food for dinner! Register Botany and myself at a doctor's which does not involve a 40 minute walk and/or parking nightmare! Cards- em, yeah, those! Bake something! Wrap something! Jingle around the clock!

For extra amusement value, Botany is cutting molars top and bottom, has her own cough to contend with, and at the start of the week, was in the foulest of moods. When not screaming or throwing a raging tantrum about something mystifying (cup? no cup? that other cup? the cup is too full? not full enough? what? what? what?) she clings to me like a barnacle. And happy as I am to carry her about with my increasingly buff arms, it does get a little tricky trying to do basic life stuff, never mind Christmas preparation while toting a 16 month old about. 

 Anyway- I feel I need to explain myself about this post which has upset a (now apparently former) reader. Due to the general life backlog (see above) I only just got around to reading the comment, hence the delay in responding. 

For the record, I apologise if I caused offence in any way. Evidently, I have.  My intention was certainly not to represent the period of my life during which I struggled with infertility as "halcyon" in itself. God knows it wasn't. Rather, I was referring to the community in which I experienced a tremendous amount of support and friendship, and what it was like to be blogging then, and how it changed my life forever. Even when things were at their crappest, it made a huge difference to know that there were people out there who understood. That was the halcyon part, not the circumstances that brought us there. What Pru's blog was referencing, and what I was picking up on, is that some extent, that original sense of community from that time seems to be gone- or at least profoundly changed, and I was attempting to muse on why that is. 

 I would never, for one second, wish the experience of infertility on anyone, or try to depict it as a merry lark which was delightful to go through. Never. Nor have I forgotten what it was like. My heart goes out to anyone who is still struggling. For a long time, I felt like I was last one left behind, while everyone else moved on, and there is not a day that goes by when I don't feel grateful for how things turned out for me as far as being able to be a mother to Botany. 
 
 I try to be conscious of the feelings of anyone out there who may be having an IF nightmare but still somehow tunes in to read what I have to say. Personally, I couldn't hack reading parenting blogs while I was struggling with infertility for the very reasons Jen mentioned in her comment- it does hurt like hell from the other side. No matter how gracious you might be, or how much you wish the person well. You want it to be you, goddamnit, and you sit there, aching and thinking, "Why her and not me? Why?" And it's worse on the days when you sense the recipient of such good fortune is perhaps less than grateful for what they have.  I am aware of that, really I am.

At the same time, the reality for me is that parenting, particularIy as a single mother, is really damn hard. There are days when I honestly don't know how I am going to hold it together to do everything that has to be done without having an exhausted breakdown. Yes, I desperately wanted this, and I got it, whereas others have not. And I realise that sucks. But what I am dealing with(the state of singlehood not being one of my choosing, I might add) is taking an immense toll on me at the moment. I try to keep a lid on what might well be perceived as whining and complaining, because hey- how is that fun to read? At the same time, there is stuff going on that I need to be honest about. Because I do enough effing grinning and bearing it with my stiff upper lip all day without coming to my personal blog and pretending everything is great all the time.  
 
I regret if that rubs anyone up the wrong way. I just want you to know that no matter what, it is absolutely not my intention to belittle, or demean, or be insensitive to others, especially those who are in the middle of their own infertility difficulties. I'm truly sorry if anyone felt otherwise.

Next time: some good news, I promise!  And until then- I wish you all peace and a happy holidays.

They paved the internet and put up a parking lot

For a few days now*, I've been ruminating on a recent post from Pru about Infertility blogging: the Halcyon Days Gone By. It made me all wistful and nostalgic and even a little...homesick. It was a time in my life where I had little else to do in the evenings but roam the internets, read blogs, write comments, write my own posts (I used to try to post every other day! Imagine!). The quality of the company was just stupendous. There was, for at least a short time, a real sense of community and togetherness; I for one had the feeling I had found my tribe and my sad, bitter little infertile voice could for once be raised as loud as I wished. It was an amazing revelation to me to learn that people could have serious, soul-destroying problems and still be funny, still laugh about things, still find a  snarky comic joy during some very bleak moments.  

If you are a blogger now and weren't around then, this is not to make you feel all left out. To be honest, even though I have fallen out of the habit of reading so widely, I had kind of assumed that in some ways, the tradition continued on unabated, although it did seem to me at one point that there were now entirely too many blogs to humanly keep track of. That was part of the beauty of the old days, I think. It used to be on Infertility Island, everyone knew their neighbour and nobody locked their tent at night. But the population seems to have grown and grown. Odd having a overpopulation crisis in a group of people unable to populate themselves, but there you go. I even heard a rumour that there may be a brand new condominium going in by the ferry dock.

For me, blogging changed irrevocably due to three factors. The first, and most serious, was that E. found out about the blog a couple years ago around the time of our first near break-up. Well, I say "found out" but in reality, I did tell him. I think we were having a huge fight about the underlying web of secrets and lies in our relationship and it seemed kind of disingenious to be keeping it from him, considering what a huge amount of time and effort I was spending online. He wasn't particulary amused about it and even though he indicated he wasn't going to read it, from then on I felt eyeballs on the back of my shoulderblades whenever I sat down to write. And I started doing a lot of undesirable self-editing.  

And that self-editing became even more self conscious after I got trainwrecked. I hate to even bring this up, since it was a ridiculous incident and it bothers me in the extreme that those sad little fucks (who went around targeting sites to subject to ridicule) might have somehow, in any small way, gotten to me. But it did make me question to some degree as to how my writing might be coming across. That can be an insidious mental journey to take, and in my opinion, one guaranteed to fuck with your blogging head. Who is reading? How often? Do they like me? Do they still like me? Why do they like me? Will they like me if I say...this. What about that? Oh God, I really want to say that but then they might hate me and stop reading. Or maybe they are only reading because they hate me. Oh God, I hate me. Maybe I should just give it all up and work on my knitting. Etc.

The third thing was, obviously, getting pregnant with Botany, her subsequent birth and the mayhem of my ensuing life since then. I no longer have an iota of the free time I used to for the internet; most of my days are spent patching the leaks in the liferaft and trying to keep us afloat (all the while singing a rousing chorus of Incy Wincy Spider at top volume). So it's perhaps easy to wrap up the fondness I felt for the Halcyon Days with the same longing for say, a long lie-in followed by a leisurely coffee while reading the Sunday papers. Or even just thirty uninterrupted seconds to pee in peace.      

Anyway, I am not sure where I am going with this little walk down memory lane. But if you're out there blogging, wondering in Jack Johnson fashion- where'd all the good people go, then I hope you somehow manage to carve out your own little happy corner of cyberspace. Everyone should have their own Halycon era. For no matter what fresh hell comes along in future, I think I will always be the better for having experienced that time.

*Nothing gets done quickly around here anymore. I have grey roots showing, I may never reach the bottom of my laundry basket and there are still cardboard boxes from the move sitting in the hall awaiting recycling. Admittedly, the boxes do make great tunnels in which Botany can play. 

Circling the economic wagons

Oh ha ha ha! Applying make up while parked in the car. Parked!  Not driving!  Of course. What a nugget I am.  I guess it never occured to me for three  reasons. The first is that back when I lived in Los Angeles, City of Cars, I used to know a girl who routinely did her nails, applied elaborate eyeshadow and curled her hair while driving with her knees.  So I must have been thinking of her. Secondly, the nursery is basically right next door to my office, so I don't usually go back to the car after dropping her off. Thirdly, I am a nugget (see above).  

Anyway, enough about me and my inept, curious vanity. It's time for a little community action- brought to you by Motherhood Uncensored. Here's the deal- and I quote (more or less), because it's already bed time and I have laundry to hang up, lunch to prepare for tomorrow and heartburn from an overzealous crockpot chili to combat:

"The premise is simple. If you read blogs, then for the month of August, make the "pledge" to click through from your feed reader. No obligation to leave a hilarious comment or send a long stalkerish email (although both, within reason, are always lovely). Just click through to the blog and if you're feeling generous, click around to their older posts."

Brilliant and simple. Simply brilliant, no? Yes, I thought so, too. You can find your way to the full list of bloggy participants via the "Blog the Recession" button in Campfire (in the side bar on the right). Bear in mind, you are not being asked to click on ads (which someone rightly pointed out is a dodgy practice)- the idea is simply to up traffic to blogs themselves, with all the happy benefits that brings such as helping someone else, discovering a cool new read, bolstering your karmic brownie points. It's all good.     

Needs must

Ahem. It has probably not escaped your attention that there is a new addition here on the site; namely, advertising. Before you all recoil in horror and run away, I should probably explain what the dealio is, and why I have, er, sold out.

Among the many craptastic consequences of the demise of my relationship with E. is an abrupt shift in financial wellbeing. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to work out that two people with incomes living together in one house are more likely to be in a more advantageous economic position than, say, two people living separately paying two sets of rent/mortgage/property tax/utility bills, etc etc etc.  With one fell swoop, the security I thought I had is gone, and there are some hard choices to be made. 

The good news is that because I am generally a very prudent and sensible sort of horse, there is something to fall back on. A war chest, a stockpile for a rainy day. The bad news is that war has broken out- and it's raining. 

The most obvious solution to the forthcoming financial pinch is to go back to work full time. My maternity leave ends in two weeks' time. Prior to the unexpected departure of E, the plan was to work part-time, earning approximately of half of my pre-Botany salary. At the time, it was a decision that made a lot of sense, based largely on the need to have a balance of extra income, continued career development for me while still being able to devote time to mothering, and the wellbeing of Botany.

After an awful lot of soul-searching and number crunching, I've decided to stick with the part-time plan, although the reasoning has shifted a little bit. Please note that what follows is very much a decision based on my personal circumstances; I am not for one minute criticising or casting aspersions on mothers/families who choose to (or who must) do it differently.  

The bottom line for me is that there have been a great many losses lately. I have yet to fully understand why or how it's happened, but everything we had worked to build- our family, as I knew it- is gone. I am sad and I am sorry, but I can endure all of it, just. What I can't bear is losing the time with Botany that I would have otherwise had. It's going to be hard enough transitioning back to working at all, but the thought of having to suddenly plonk her in the nursery five days a week for ten hours a day while I sit at a desk doing a job I like a whole lot but which is not a patch on doing the mothering thing- frankly, I just can't do it. As someone wisely pointed out to me, she's only going to be a baby for the blink of an eye, and this is the time you don't get back.

In any event, aside from how I might feel about it, it also seems grossly unfair to her. I am desperate to minimise the possible fallout for her as much as I can, and to go from having her mummy full time during the day to never having either her or Daddy at all? It makes me want to weep. It might be very different if the parenting were to be a little more shared- for example, if E. and I could juggle our schedules somewhat so as to give Botany the benefit of later drop offs and earlier pick ups. That might prove possible in due course but the reality is that right now it's not going to happen that way. It's going to be me, and only me for now.

Anyway. Having crunched the numbers with an eye on the upcoming move and with the war chest opened as wide as it will go, the conclusion I have reached is this: with some material sacrifices and belt tightening, we should be able to manage despite my working part-time. If things get ridiculously bad, then of course I will have to go back to work full time. But in the meantime, I'd like to try it this way and see how it goes. I've gotten by on very little in the past, and I'm good at making do, making ends meet. However, what I don't want is for Botany to have to miss out on things she would have otherwise enjoyed; even small stuff like a new toy or a book or a day out. 

Up until now I had always resisted the idea of allowing advertising on this site. I write for the love of it, and asking my readers to help use my blog to make money wasn't something that interested me. But now I've decided that if it enables me to provide for Botany, I'll treat this website as an asset. I promise to try to post something at least twice weekly, and maybe even include the odd picture now again. My goal at the moment is to earn enough to at least pay the Typepad monthly fees. Assuming that I manage this, anything above and beyond that will go to Botany, with the exception of 10% of any revenue, which I would intend to donate to charity. I am a firm believer that acts of charity bring with them a sense of balance and grace. More importantly, I want Botany to learn from my example early on that even when it feels like you don't have that much, there is still something that can be given back.

Thank you all, as always, for your understanding and continued support.

Two

I can't believe what I am about to write: today is my second bloggiversary. Or was it yesterday?  Mmm. At the moment it feels more like a "blah-geversary". As in, I am blah. I feel blah. The blog is blah. Blah-blah-blah. Never mind, add that second row of shiny bars to my epaullettes.

A few minor housekeeping items: I owe a bunch of people emails. I am also complete crap at commenting on other people's sites. I am sorry. I do apologise wholeheartedly for my appalling lack of responsiveness.  I think it has something to do with the fact that after endless hours at the computer at work, I simply don't seem to be able to face sitting down again for any length of time.  Particularly when the weather is half decent, as it has been. But not to worry, this being Scotland we shall soon be plunged into the perennial fog and mist and I shall once again feel like hibernating at my desk.

It also might be a good time for a wee reminder about what the dealio is with the Campfire links on the right hand side. I'm slightly slower than I used to be about seeking out new blogs (or at least ones I haven't heard of yet) but by all means e-mail me should you wish to take a turn round the convivial bonfire.  Marshmallows included. 

I suppose now would be a good time to write that post I have been thinking about for awhile; about the passage of time, and how in so many ways I seem to be standing still while others are continually moving on. Except, the aforesaid blaaaaaah.  And also, I realised today as I compiled another pile of documents for the mysterious Project Possibly that I am moving forward. Just very, very, very slowly. So! Let us, on this day, celebrate the snails' pace of change; for even though it may be teethgrittingly gradual, change there is. The right sort of change. And that can only be a good thing as far as I am concerned.

We Interrupt this Interruption to say...

Hi! Hey! Hello! OK, I am know I am supposed to officially be on hiatus, but truth is, I miss the blogginess. Since my practice at the moment is to Do That Which Makes Me Happy, I thought I would just sort of stick my head above the duvet covers, with a little wave and a "howdy".

I also wanted to extend a sincere thank you to everyone who has commented, emailed, telephoned and in the case of one particular saint, sent flowers. You know who you are, and I will never forget it.

I wish I could say that everything is all better, and that I am whole, hearty and am able to pick up where we left off. Truth is, I still feel like my life is one big rollercoaster. Some days I am scared, sad, panicked and desperate beyond all telling. Other days I am completely calm, knowing that come what may, I am absolutely going to be OK. My hope is that eventually things will level off to the point where I no longer resemble an insane trapeze artist.

One of the reasons I thought it best to take a break was because I was so utterly blindsided by the turn life had taken. Getting to grips with the idea that I may never be able to have children was one thing. But to suddenly discover that I also seemed to be in the process of losing the man I love, for reasons which I still cannot understand, knocked the wind out of me so badly that I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to get up. And I was finding that I wasn't able to conduct myself with any sort of dignity or grace- at home, at work, or online.

I think now that while I may not have the equilibrium I need, I know I will somehow find the strength to get through it. What I am still trying to work out is how much to say about that process here. The thing is, people don't tend to talk much about relationship issues so much on infertility blogs. There are probably many reasons for that- but at first, my overwhelming feeling was that in the losing game of infertility, I have drawn the absolute worst hand. I don't get the baby and not only that, I may not get to keep the man either. Friends, let me tell you, being in that position is an incredibly lonely and isolating experience: like, how fucked up can this small girl's life become, all in the space of one year?

But then an interesting thing happened: a number of people publically commented, or privately emailed me to tell me that they had been, or were going through their own relationship hell, and to share how they coped with it. I began to feel a sense of being connected again, and it got me wondering if maybe there was some benefit in telling this particular story as well, or at least the parts of it that I feel comfortable sharing. That maybe somebody else out there suffering the same sort of maelstrom of crappiness could take heart that they were not alone.

OK. I'm climbing back into the bathtub for a bit now...but stay tuned, because I suspect I'll feel like checking back in again soon- even if the rollercoaster ride is not quite over.

Seatech Astronomy

There was a movie called Sneakers on TV here, a couple months ago. It's a charming, slightly silly film. One of the lesser Robert Redford efforts, admittedly. However, I found it worth watching, partly because I couldn't remember how it ended and partly because I felt a swoony nostalgia at seeing River Phoenix again on the screen. Ah, River. River, River, River. Alas, we hardly knew ye.

I won't bore with you the plot of the movie, mainly because it's too complicated; not to mention that I have already forgotten what it is about (again). But in one pivotal scene, Le Redford and that actress Mary McDonnell (you know, "Stands with a Fist" to Kevin Costner's "Dances with Wolves") decode the meaning of the mysterious words "Seatech Astronomy". They do so during a friendly Scrabble game, shuffling and rearranging the tiles- until they realise that in fact, Seatech Astronomy itself means nothing. It is an anagram.

An anagram for: Too Many Secrets.

This weekend, E. and I played something of a Scrabble game with our relationship. It turns out that there is a very great deal more going on than meets the eye. I learned that when unscrambled, one of the anagrams of our life together amounts to the same thing: too many secrets.

My biggest secret from E. has heretofore been the existence of this blog. I've been writing it for the last seventeen months (gosh, has it been that long? Do I get a gold watch or something?) and never breathed a word to him about it. Initially, I kept it from him because it was simply an experiment; one which I didn't imagine would amount to much, since hey! I was going to get pregnant any day now and then why would I need an infertility blog? Oh irony, you minx.

I felt from the outset it would easier to write if I knew it was a private endevour, not something I had to discuss or share. But then I wrote more and more, becoming increasingly drawn into not only the realisation that I was card-carrying infertile but that there was a fascinating online community of others like me. I began to worry that he wouldn't like it at all. That he would in fact be monumentally pissed off at me for telling the Internets all our personal stuffus, even though I have always striven to maintain as much anonymity as I could muster. In the end, the more I wrote, the more I fretted that eventually, he would find out- and that he would murder me and then break up with me.

But by that point, it was hard to think about 'fessing up, because I kinda felt like I had hit my stride a bit; that writing was working for me, and had become an important outlet for all the damp, murky fears. However, I think it also began to take its toll. Writing, reading and commenting on other blogs began to take up a massive amount of my limited spare time and energy. If I've ever annoyed one of my lovely commenters by not responding to you personally, trust me when I say that it's about all I can manage time-wise, just to write the damn thing, and to keep up with the events of others.

I suppose at some point, I was so into telling my story here that I pretty much stopped talking to E. about what I was feeling/thinking about our situation. Gradually, the blog became the kind of secret that fortifies the wall, rather than an outlet that builds bridges.

Well, he knows now, since I told him. To my utter astonishment, he was completely unfazed by the whole thing, or at least he appeared to be. Whether he'll read it in full or just skim it (Hello, E. Put your dishes in the dishwasher, please), or take no interest whatsoever, I don't know. Either way, I'd like to think that I can keep on writing it as honestly, unselfconsciously, and freely as I have before. Because I suspect in the coming months, I'm going to need to be able to do that.

I would tell you exactly why that is so, but, um...it's a secret.

I have you in my sites

And now for something completely different.

I have a question- something vaguely off topic which I have wanted to know for ages, but I could never really find the right moment to bring it up. Thing is, I suspect it might be quite a stupid thing to ask. But then, when you don't know the answer to something, it's often quite easy to assume that everyone else in the universe has the understanding and knowledge that you do not- when in fact they too are sitting home scratching their heads over precisely the same little mystery, and wishing like hell somebody else would pipe up and ask.

My question relates to my Site Meter. For those of you who don't know what this is, it's basically a hit counter that tells you how many people are visiting your site per day. If you blog, and don't have a site meter, then run run run as fast your little fingers will carry you to sign up for one! Here is a helpful guide to get you started.

Bloggers love site meters. Because not only does the counter tell you how many site hits you receive, but it tells you when, and for how long. Plus, you also find out all manner of other gripping little factoids you would never otherwise have known. For example, you can see not only from which countries do your visitors hail, but from which particular cities or towns or lifeboats. You learn what times of day are the busiest for web traffic. You discover how people are coming to you and sometimes what led them there - from Google, from another blog link, from the depths of hell. If you ask it nicely, the site meter site will give you little charts and graphs and forecasts for you to pore over in amused fascination.

It's almost like a blog ultrasound, only without the cold lubricant and the monkeys. And if you look at it long enough, or often enough, or even occasionally out of boredom or passing interest, the site meter can tell you something about the life and pulse of your blog. Best of all, it's deliciously free. Freeeee!

Anyway, what I have always wondered about this: There's a site meter log which records the duration of each visit. So, for example, I can see that in the last hour, there were 13 hits, and that Betty Smith from Pocatello, Idaho logged on at 3.15 pm and looked at 3 different pages within the site for 4.36 minutes.

Ha. Don't worry, Betty, I was kidding. It doesn't give me your name or anything else about you personally. But I do get the rest of that information.

Here's the thing, though - who are the people who visit for 0.00 seconds? I always have lots of these in the records. At first I thought the meter could only pick up hits if the visitor stayed for a certain length of time- like for more than 10 seconds. But then I looked back through the log a bit, and found visits that lasted, say, 4 seconds. Which threw that theory out the window.

I'm not really bothered or worried about this odd, repetitive non-event. I am curious, though. My confusion is twofold- first, if the visit is really lasting only 0.00 seconds, how the hell does the site meter pick that up? Is it just really, really alert and on the ball?

Secondly, and more crucially, how does anyone make up their mind about my site in 0.00 seconds? This causes me continual, gentle bafflement. I mean, I'm capable of some mighty snap decisions- for example, "No, I won't go to the gym tonight but instead will collapse like a beached baby seal on my sofa in front of the TV while nibbling something yummy." And I'm completely down with getting your groove on with some free-flowing web surfing, click click click. But even I usually take more than 0.00 seconds to ascertain if the web site I am on is someplace I want to be.

So what the hell is going on with the old 0.00? Is it only happening to me, or does everyone get these insta-drive bys? Does anyone know the answer?