This isn’t going to be one of those bloggy blogs where you blog about blogging. And, yes, I just made up a word. No, this is actually intended to be a sort of safe haven for those who, like me, suffer with the horribly toxic affliction known as Sarcasm. Rest well and know that we will take care of you here. You’re safe from the Dulls and the Serious, and the scariest of all: The Grave. With them it’s all Literal Meanings, and Alarm Clocks, and
Putting the Dishes in the Dishwasher. Sorry about that last one; I can’t believe I just said that. I’m ashamed of myself. Take solace and trust that my dishes are slowly decaying in the sink the way they ought to be. I just sprinkled some shredded cheese overtop of them to give them something to ruminate over during the night when the draft leaks in through the thin-paned window, and they start to feel unloved.
This isn’t even a blog, really, but a placeholder for rampant thoughts that are lonely and needy and want to be acknowledged. So, I will place them here, and, maybe, after a while, they’ll start to feel appreciated. Maybe one day I’ll Twit them on Twatter, and they’ll finally fall in love with some hunky, muscly prose that’s been strutting around the interwebs in hopes there’s something more. Maybe they’ll travel the world and meet new faces that appreciate them so much that they’ll accept them and share them and make them feel like they aren’t small and ordinary and boring, because they are none of those things. For now, though, they are happy to have found a yard to play in. Maybe I’ll even buy a swing set.