Attila's roomate Erik asked me a very interesting question this morning, as I sat at the kitchen table discussing the psychosomatic roots of cancer with Andrés, the third member of the flat and psychology student at the University of Budapest.

"Have you checked the frequency with which people are viewing your blog?"

No, I told him, I hadn't; not only is it not even possible I don't think, but quite frankly, I don't really want to know.

Not now at least; not after the dream he and Andrés have planted inside my head.
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I'm pretty used to writing just for the sake of writing at this point -- you can call me the 21st century literary version of Van Gogh, or Picasso, or whichever of those two famous artists was the one who remained a nobody until well past his death.

I did have a fan club in college, I'll admit: Her name was Nicole, even though she should have been named Lizzie; my own girlfriend from the end of my third year at UVa until the next February needed a red-hot cattle prod to persuade her to open up the Cav Daily whenever one of my stories was running. And since graduating, not much has changed. The other day, I got a message from my version of "Elaine" -- Jewish, female, from New York, friends with me and all my guy friends, Seinfeldian humor -- letting me know how she hoped "we" were still having a good time. "We" as in the five other guys I started the trip with, all of whom left to go back home nearly three months ago. And this was the same Elaine who had just recently confessed to me that my blog was her "new favorite website."

I can't tell if it's me or her who has been Hitting the Snooze Button ... on Life since June.

I didn't start a blog because I expected anyone not on The Bob's email-list-for-life-without-the-possibility-for-parole to read the thing; I started one just so I could keep my writing skills sharp. I should be so lucky as the character from the Biblical parable, the one who foolishly buried his talents in the ground; at least he had talentsssss. I've only got ah talent to bury. You think I'm going to risk leaving it at home, so that my little dog Pacifico can dig it up, carry it away to the "boneyard," and chew the living bejeezus out of it on the side of our house?

Think again.

But after immediately answering "no," and before any of these thoughts had yet entered my mind, Erik and Andrés had already started to paint a picture of the sensation my blog was creating back home.

"Who knows? When you arrive home at the airport, maybe you will have a big crowd of people at your gate waiting for you." Both were already laughing uncontrollably. "'BAYLESS! BAYLESS! We LOVE you! You are SO great! Can you write something for us, right now???' Hahahahaha! Yes, this is what will happen, this is what will happen."

And that's what I'm telling myself, as well ... in my dreams.

Thank God I've got a Snooze Button nearby.