Alex doesn’t read this weblog

This is Alex. Hello Alex!

Alex lives in London. He’s my friend. He’s married to Frances. I talk about her lots, but I don’t talk about Alex very much.

Alex, like many of you (especially those of you not here right now), does not read my weblog.

Why do you care whether Alex reads my blog or not?

It says something, doesn’t it? It says something about the nature of the world, about me, and my essential human flaw.

Here YOU are, a perfectly good human, reading this. You are at “Letters from London” and you are interested in London, and Elsewhere. You like pictures. You like stories. You like living vicariously. You read my weblog. You’re good.

But who am I moaning about? Alex. What else am I moaning about? My ex-boyfriends. What else? The dandy weather in Kansas City, and my ex-job and my ex-porch and wide grocery store aisles, and all the things I miss from home.

Look at Alex. LOOK at him. Isn’t he cute? He is. Why am I featuring photos of Alex here, and not photos of my husband, or even Frances? Not a good question. But a relevant one.

It seems my wiring is mis-wired. It seems, sometimes– often– I can’t see things. It isn’t a problem with forest or trees. It’s that I’ve got my fool head craned around, trying to see anything I might have I missed. What I am missing. What was and what could have been. Forest? What forest?

Ow. Who put that stupid tree there?

Ah Alex. You are so funny. I like you.

So I’m just blathering on about Alex, who doesn’t read this, and won’t even know he has a webpage featuring him, even though all he ever does, besides eating rice, is stare at computer screens (lame).

I SHOULD be telling you about Amber, who always is the first to respond to my posts. Or Bob Barnes, my friend in Lawrence, who stayed with us here, and who tries to put comments on the blog, but gets foiled by technology and clenches his fists in the air and says “Damn you!” like a cartoon character. Or Greg, my unicycle-commuting brother-in-law, who had my blog on his RSS feed before my husband did. Or Grinder,
aka Rod, whom I’ve never met , but who lives in Madison and who personally started me a mini-following there.