I don't care about your Twitter numbers

I don't care about your Twitter numbers.

Or your blog stats.

Or how many PR emails you get in a given day addressed to the wrong person.

I don't care who sponsored you and for what and how much you were paid to stand on your head or write about soda.

I don't care who sent you on that fabulous trip to that fabulous place. Or why. (Although, I don't begrudge you for going. I totally would too.)

I don't care about the blog celebrity you got to hang out with or how many @s you get in a single day.

I don't care how many names you can drop in a single Tweet.

I don't care about the inspiration you're creating for blog fodder alone. 

I don't care how perfect your life can look through a grainy, artsy photo. (I prefer most of my life to be of the non-photoshopped variety. Unless I have a zit.)

I don't care what doors you can open for me unless my hands are full.

I don't quite care how perfect your husband and family are. Not because I don't assume they're great, I'm sure they are, but because perfect isn't interesting.

Perfect also isn't true.

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I care about your words.

I care about who you care about and why.

I care about the people you're raising.

I actually do care what you had for lunch, especially if you made it in those precious ten minutes in the morning between when you woke up and when your kids woke up and was it delicious? and would you share the recipe? because I'm such a cooking rookie, I don't scoff at any food-related tips.

I care about what's broken you in the past and how you rose up to break it right back.

I care about your sense of humor.

I care about what it's like to sit down for a drink with you and talk about life and infertility and fighting with our husbands and our crazy in-laws and how damn good sausage on a stick actually is.

I care about how you got your 18 month old to stop eating dog food when he has perfectly good pasta on his plate.

I care about how you find joy in the ordinary, day-to-day, commuting-is-a-bitch, the-laundry-is-never-done life.

I care about visiting you when I'm in town, no matter what blog post or Flick set comes of it.

I care about how you treat people, all people, including that blogger with five readers who won't lead you to any opportunity except that silly little opportunity I like to call friendship.

I care about your enthusiasm more than your traffic, your kindness more than your bio, and whether or not you're someone I can confess my love of One Tree Hill to without fear you'll judge me even a little bit.

(I really care if you watch it too.)

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I care about your story.

I care about how you tell it.