When people just disappear, and you never have any idea what happened.
Witness protection program?
Sudden epiphany and moved into a Carmelite convent?
Or maybe they just hated me so much they had to go into hiding….
Like the kid from high school who hasn't turned up on Classmates, and can't be found by Google, and none of the pitifully few people I've talked to in the past few decades has any idea.
(Vicky McAllister — Were you just a figment of my imagination?)
God knows I am the absolute worst person on earth at keeping up with people, but some folks make it harder for anyone, even people less challenged than I am, to catch up with them.
Or when you're reading a series of books, and the author didn't finish it.
Rosemay Edghill, the twelve treasures, anyone?
So where are the rest of them, already?
Inquiring minds want to know.
Or, she says, getting to the point, when someone just goes and cancels their Vox.
I can see it if there is a privacy issue of some kind — spooky stalking happening, or whatever.
Life can be hard.
But couldn't you go back and neighborhood-only your stuff, or just delete the shaky stuff if it seems controversial to you in retrospect.
And I can see deciding thia whole blogging thing is taking too much of your time.
After all, my own presence here fluctuates wildly.
I just figure people will be okay if I miss something.
There are enough of us that I can slack sometimes — if I miss a contest, or a milestone, I think I trust the peeps not to get their undies in a twist about it.
(Slack now, Vox later, as someone might say.)
But do you have to cancel everything and dwindle into a question mark?
I feel like Winston Smith seeing history re-write itself: the posts are gone, were they ever there?
Just like a polite little kid leaving a party would do.
Thank you for inviting me.
I had a lovely time.
Then I wouldn't be imaging you sleeping with the fishes.