Wow. It may not seem like a lot to true web addicts, but I had about 250 RSS feeds that I watched, obsessively, via Google Reader. Sure, my unread items hovered at “Over 1000” most of the time. Sure, I missed out on timely news and contests, not because I wasn’t getting the information sent to me, but because I wasn’t reading the information. It was just too much. I would feel honest stress trying to get the unread items down under 1000. I’d worry: “Is it over 2000 or just 1001? How much over 1000 is it? Can I ever read them all??”
So, last night I sat down and started weeding. And weeding. And wow, weeding out. Do I really need 20 feeds for WoW, a game I no longer play (except for that demo download. No backsies!!)? No, although it was sad to unsubscribe from Megan’s Out of Mana blog. Sadder still knowing that I kept it subscribed just hoping she’d pop back onto the radar at some point. Dittoes for World of Snarkcraft. Nevermind that I can pop over to Seri’s house and play Rock Band or ride bikes or do anything else 14 year olds do for fun, anytime I want. (Note to self: get grown up hobbies.) How about 50 feeds for knitting, most of which hadn’t been updated since… wow, 2007? Sheesh.
But you know what saddened me the most? Not the loss of my sweet RSS feeds and the inspiration they represented. Not the loss of information or the what if I don’t get the message?? desperation. It was the feeds that just cut off. No “I’m moving to a different blog!” entry or “Thanks for the memories” or even the tell-tale “Wow, I haven’t logged onto my blog in so long” that precipitates an end to a blog. It was the blogs that seem fine one day, seem prolific even, then just cut right off. Worse yet, instead of “no new entries” in Reader, what about “No entries”. As if the blog never existed. As if the owner deleted it all, desperate to erase her fingerprints from the Internet.
So I’m kind of sad to lost those people, even though I never met em. Never even commented on their entries, most likely. It’s silly, but I feel sad for that missed opportunity to meet what seemed to be a kindred soul. Or maybe it’s just the melancholy of a packrat cleaning house.