Legions of Readers, Where the Heck are You?

Ah, from the title alone you know this piece is going to be about you, don't you. Or about "not you" as you may no longer be here. That may be my fault. I've been gone quite a bit the last few months. But I still think there have been a couple of beauties put up and I'm just not getting a feel that anybody's out there. And, since I don't have a counter, and don't have any ads and so am not making my stinking $3.21 per day, this is an act of pure love and selfishness. I know you might think those two words don't belong together, but they do if I've refused love for 57 years. Now, I'm learning, very slowly, to accept it, and that makes me selfish. So while I'm writing this darned thing for myself, I'm also writing it for whomever you might be. And in that case it's given with love, but since I'm writing it partly for me, it's written with a touch of selfishness as well. See how I turned that one around? Clever for a middle-aged, very muddled, quite nuts average white guy.
In any event, if some of you would please let me know you actually bother reading this, my ego would be assuaged a bit. And, of course, if Google AdSense is reading this, if you could give me my counter back, at least, I'd have an idea if one or two people a month are actually looking in on things. I mean, the Gorman's are quite a funny soap opera, what with rats in the office, an ex-wife whose children by her new beau I'm helping to raise and what with the dozens of guests I've taken to the Amazon who still hate me....that last is a lie: I know of 7 people who think I failed them miserably and dozens who had the trip of their lives--not necessarily because of me but because I put them in touch with something primordial within themselves that needed birthing.
And now, since I don't have a lot to say except that I caught three mice in my kitchen last night after kicking the mice out of the garbage by moving the garbage area away from the house, leaving them looking for somewhere new to live (in my kitchen, near the garbage bag) and that I'm not nearly as petrified of them as I am of the freaking rats, well, I'll leave you to your evening. I hope it's a great one.
Two of my friends are getting married Sunday and I'm still trying to work out driving 850 miles to be there, but Italo took my good, or at least decent, truck to his new school last night, leaving me with my wonderful 1994 Ranger long bed with extended (Ha!) cab, the one with 290,000 miles, and I'm not sure she's up for the job. Plus, my boss gave me an assignment that's due on Monday and I don't know that I can finish it tomorrow.
And that's it from here. If my most recent posts have been too meloncoly, and I know they've been pretty emotional to a large extent, forgive me. Or screw it. I am that kind of guy: One minute the world's funny, the next it's difficult, the next it's emotional, the next it's a story about me and Madeleina playing frisbee. So deal with it. If none of you are reading anyway, who cares. If you are, thanks.
Yours in emotional turmoil and joy,
Me