{wafts of Free Bird}

{if i leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me}

I can just see it now.

I’m lying in a hospital bed hooked up to life support. I’m still as a board in a coma. Not even a finger has lifted off the mattress in four, five, perhaps six days.

I’m done, checkin’ out. I awaken brightly in the middle of the night, after the visitors have retired to their abodes and as the nurses chatter in low tones at their station, sit up and pull my own plug. Then with a pfffffft and a whooooosh, I’m gone, free as a bird to soar into the Great Beyond back home.

Last night I did pretty much the same thing over at Vox. Began to laboriously delete the photos I’d taken and posts I’d written individually or in batches (since there’s no universal delete).

Strange thing to do when Vox is dead in two weeks anyway? Not at all to those who know me.

It was slow going. I envisioned myself still sitting there deleting days and nights down the road with a full head of gray hair and wearing a granny dress and support hose.

So I did the best and Right thing. I pulled my own plug.

I had to laugh. When cancelling a Vox account, the message appears: You want to leave us? Are you sure? We’ll miss you!

Yeah, right! Perhaps around 2007 they could’ve said that and meant it.

That message is just another sign of the neglect and negligence that fueled the site’s demise.

Had SixApart been on the ball, they’d have posted a message nearer to the truth: You want to leave us? Hell, we don’t blame you! Adios, pardner!

By my own hand of freedom, I now cease to exist at Vox save in memories. I’m outta there, gone, free. The place beyond, it ain’t bad. Ain’t bad at all.

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