Journal log entry – I haven’t sought help. Not yet. Perhaps I’m in denial, because I’m not blaming myself. My addiction for checking my stats continues, but it’s not me. It’s my site. It’s like a black-market supplier pushing its goods on me. It’s crawling and not yet running, making it that much easier for me to notice everything and that much harder not to look. If the figures didn’t just barely make it into the double digits, maybe I’d be more distracted … less focused and miss things. But now look at what it’s done to me. I’m befuddled. How can I only have one visitor so far today, when I have views from the United States, Australia, and Bangladesh? But it’s not the first. No, it’s not the first. I’ve seen this before with other countries, and all I can fathom from it without going insane is that I have a fan who’s a pilot … and that’s sad … isn’t it … if that’s all that holds my sanity together?
Maybe it takes longer for the visitor stat to kick in. Yeah, that could be it … but no … I’ve been refreshing this bloody screen for the past half hour and it hasn’t changed!!!
What?! I said I’m addicted! It’s just not my fault.
How … how can that be … only just one visitor? It doesn’t make sense. Multiple computers with the same I.P. address? Computer doppelgangers? Oh no … I’ve stumbled upon something I’m not supposed to have known. When they find out, they’ll kill me. They will. They’ll do anything to keep me silent. I need your help. I’m desperate. I don’t want to die. It’s too evident if they see my stat site that I’ve found them out. The numbers will scream at them that they don’t compute like they scream at me now … and they’ll know that I’ve seen them scream. We have to hide the stats under larger numbers, hide the discrepancies. You have to do this for me … please! Come to my site. Tell your friends. Tell your friends to tell their friends to come … heck … have them tell those they don’t even faintly like … or know for that matter. They’ve all got to come. Now you’ve got to do this for me, please. I promise I won’t tell them that I told you what I know … but under torture (the sight of doughnuts and not able to eat them) I can’t be responsible. You have to understand. So if not for me, do this for yourself. Oh no … wh-what’s that? I think I hear someone knocking at the door. I, I, I, I … I have to go. But … but hurry! P-please do hurry…
No time to sign off,
Roger and out … hopefully … not forever