Well, only one topic, really: me. That is, me in respect to Archives of Our Lives.

A lot of people say that blogging is their “journal;” their creative outlet; the place they go to vent and feel all of their feelings. I say, good for them. I read lots of those blogs, and faithfully so. I follow several blogs written by stay-at-home moms who mostly write so their friends and family can be updated on their lives. That’s fine, too. In fact, I haven’t met many blogs I don’t like. There’s something intriguing to me about peeking into the lives of others, whether they be career people, family people, homeless people, or all of the above.

Each blog has a purpose…and the purpose of my blog is to entertain.

I have never aspired to anything more. I don’t expect to change the world, nor do I anticipate anything monumental ever happening here. I blog because I hope to brighten people’s day–to give each and every one of you something to look forward to.

A well-known theme of blogging is that many of us “live for comments.” I subscribe to that school of thought, one hundred percent. I read each and every comment made on my blog–most comments I read more than once. Every piece of advice I receive, I contemplate. Every time a new person de-lurks, I immediately swing by his or her blog to check it out [though it takes a few comments from a new person for me to feel a true bond, so if you feel like I don’t give your blog enough attention, just say so {by commenting}]. And I notice when otherwise-regular commenters go missing.

In other words, I care what you think. I care very much, and it’s not necessarily because I want you to like me (though that’s always nice). Rather, I care because I write for you. Not for me. For you. If you are reading this post, whether you like me or not, you are fulfilling the purpose of my blog.

And because I care so much what my readers think, I put forth a great effort not to offend people.

But guess what? I am doing a lousy job of it. Despite the fact that I never–ever–publish a post without carefully considering ways my words might be misconstrued, I have learned that I am quite often unsuccessful. I have estranged people who are dear to me, along with people I’ve never met. Posts I have considered hilarious have driven many people to the point of boycotting my blog altogether. I’ve been called a b**ch. I’ve been cordially invited to eff off. I have been told I’m immature, inconsiderate, inappropriate, disappointing, disrespectful, ignorant, rude, thoughtless, careless, mean, selfish, cruel, bitter, vicious, a button-pusher, and starved for attention. {I’ve had to grow some pretty thick skin, but not so thick that I ignore people altogether. Only thick enough that these comments can’t quite seep into my self-esteem.}

To solve this problem, I’ve been advised to close my blog to anonymous comments. I’ve been told to close all comments period. It’s been suggested to make my blog private.

Many people think I should simply delete my blog and quit this aspect of my life completely.

But none of those ideas appeal to me: I don’t really mind anonymous commenters; forbidding all comments completely would defeat the purpose of my blog, as would going private; and I don’t relish the idea of quitting altogether.

Instead, I’ve decided the best solution for my dilemma is to write a disclaimer:

This blog is not homework–reading is not mandatory. It is never my intent to hurt people’s feelings. Inasmuch as I cannot forsee what everybody is experiencing in their lives, I cannot predict which phrases to avoid, which words to gloss over, or which parts of my brain to keep to myself. If your feelings were hurt and you want to tell me…by all means, tell me. If your feelings were hurt and you want to quit my blog, I will understand.

But if your feelings were hurt and you can find the time to step back, realise I didn’t mean any offense, and you still sort of agree with or enjoy some of the things I write…then please know that you are welcome here.

I may not babysit your kids, but I will–with any luck–give you something new to laugh about nearly every day of the week {give or take some [or all]}.