Mood: mock lacrimose.
I have five days left before I lose my precious Authors Den site, which over the years has generated so much indifference and brought so little traffic of any kind whatsoever to my door.
Despite a strong instinct to pay money for a further lifetime of forgetting that I had the thing in the first place, I must decline. Blame a reluctance to give any firm an incentive that my life be shorter.
More tommorow as the dread deadline approaches and the multitudinous voices that have clamoured at me over the time of my membership fall silent forever. The darkness falls, the chill of terrible isolation rises, I seem to hear a distant voice wailing 'Reader and Author contact... gone.... gooooone as if it never was!' Actually, come to think, it just plain never was.
Wither the warming blaze of my Authors Den hearth now? Well, the Swan Vesta at any rate.