Header snip originally from giphy, added onto to by other enthusiastic fans, and then I took it through memedad.
-Mobile continuation from Xanga blog PinkyGuerrero
-Most of the graphics and vids click to sources.
-Personal blog for Janika Banks.
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Saturday, July 1, 2017

pre-feeling fail with all my phalanges crossed

Decided to put the blogger stat counter back. It's awkward because I don't feel it's accurate for sets of real eyes on kind of thing, but after some thought, whoever out there is doing this little game is actually jacking me into leveling up. I don't approve of this method, like I don't approve of people running to vote sites on cue every hour or day to jack numbers because it's not a true feedback, but what the heck, right? Let bygones be bygones. Besides, I'm not the only one obsessed with the numbers thing.
Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about Pageviews

I'm not monetized. I have never monetized any of my blogs and probably never will. I don't use the traffic and content game to pull a dime around. Some people are actually able to live off of that, some nickel and dime it getting a few bills paid, some work feverishly on wringing a few pennies out. I don't sweat it. I'm not blogging to milk anyone for profit. I don't push cheering sections or grow my army, although my bounce rate is pretty sweet and I've been told by other website owners that I drive fairly nice traffic. You guys have seen me fuss about piggyback apps and bot swarms and even real people here and there, but mostly all I care about is that my name is everywhere. Janika Banks is a real business name I registered with a local legal office some years ago. I never made a cent off of it, but I wasn't trying to. I just wanted to see how that all works. Well, now I want to see how far I can push that.

Lately I'm a bit frustrated with irl and curve balls and cosmic target gaffes. I know it's time. I can feel it. I have so many interruptions popping up in my way every single day now that all I can do is laugh and proceed with one eye twitching like a madman and the other side of my head stabbing me with the stress headache from a weird mockery of hell. (I love Sartre. I was first exposed to that story in an advanced French class, so I had the added bonus of reading and testing in another language, but the story is delightfully painful.) Where was I? Oh yeah. I believe I've shared this before, but it's still accurate and apropos. I may have reached this point now where all that's left to do is just run like hell and take all the crap if I wanna really get this done.



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