I like you, WordPress. I like you a lot.

The day has finally come.
I am now an Important Person.

It may sound like I’ve taken a spirituality course called ‘The Importance of Being’, but I haven’t. Neither have I read a self-help book that says ‘every person plays an important role in this world’ or any of that hogwash.

I know because I now get e-mail. And that’s because of WordPress.

Until I joined WordPress, my inbox remained eerily empty. I did occasionally get emails from some very nice people offering me medicines to cure my pattern baldness, but since I do not suffer from that ailment, I was forced to write back, saying that, while I did not have any need for such medicines at that particular moment, I was deeply appreciative of their campaign against premature balding and I sincerely hoped that their efforts would be rewarded in the future.

Other than this, and a few death threats from Satan that I was forced to forward to other unsuspecting souls, I received absolutely no e-mail.

And now, thanks to WordPress, I receive e-mail every day. Actually, rather than e-mail, I like to think of it as fan mail. I feel like a celebrity. I feel important.

I feel like the little girl in the movie The Help, to whom Aibileen (WordPress in this case) says, “You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”

When WordPress sends me e-mails telling me to ‘moderate my blog posts’ and ‘approve comments’, I feel like the C.E.O of a company that cannot function for a minute without my expertise and irreplaceable skills. When WordPress congratulates me on obtaining one ‘like’ from a reader on one of my blog posts, I feel ecstatic, even if that one like is from my mother, which it usually is. The e-mail reads – “(name of blogger) liked your post. They thought your post was pretty awesome.” I read that, and for the rest of the day I’m filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling, like Charlie from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory when he realizes that he has won a Golden Ticket.

And recently, I received the best e-mail that WordPress could send me.

You’ll have to sit down for this.

Ready?

I now have five followers.

Five, can you imagine? Almost half a dozen!

To be fair, my five followers do include myself, my mother, and somebody who appears to be a spammer. But even spammers are people. Spammers have hearts too.

Compliments and reminders aren’t the only things I can count on WordPress for. Like a good friend, WordPress is great at pointing out character flaws as well.

Recently, while scrolling through my blog posts, I accidentally hit the ‘like’ button on one of my own posts (I repeat: accidentally). Of course, I ‘un-liked’ it almost immediately, but by then WordPress had already sent me an e-mail telling me that I had liked my own post. “You’re so vain,” it read. “You probably think (name of post I accidentally liked) is all about you.” This made me wonder: Am I, in fact, vain? Yes, I know I did ‘like’ my own post accidentally, but as the wise old Master Oogway says in Kung Fu Panda, “There are no accidents.” I wondered about how long I had taken before I ‘un-liked’ my post. I did it almost immediately, didn’t I? Almost. I must admit, there were a few milliseconds during which I thought, “So what if I ‘like’ my own post? Nobody will know.”

That day, WordPress made me realize that I am a closet narcissist. That is, if such a thing exists.

Another WordPress feature which makes me feel like I rule the world is the Stats – or rather, Statistics. When my Stats show me that somebody from a far-flung country has viewed my post, I feel a certain thrill, even though it’s entirely possible that they accidentally clicked on my post when they meant to click on the one below or above mine. But, as I’ve ascertained above, there are no accidents.

Honestly, I can just sit and refresh my Stats page all day, calculating my ratio of views to likes, and obsessing about why, of all the people who view my posts, only a few ‘like’ it. As the numbers change on the screen before me, I pretend, once again, to be C.E.O, monitoring my sales and income. Maybe everyone does it. Maybe I’ve had too many magic mushrooms (Just kidding: Read About me). Who knows?

To summarize: You know how people say that if you think you’re not important, and that nobody cares about you, you should try missing a couple of payments? I’ve got a better idea.
If you think you’re not important, just join WordPress.

 

In response to the Daily Post Challenge.