Hello blog. I’ve never addressed you directly before, so thought this might be fun. I haven’t given it a great deal of thought before doing so, so you’ll forgive me if this turns out to be a really bad/boring/idiotic idea.
Over the years I’ve written all manner of self important tosh all over you, and you’ve never complained. I’ve changed your clothes so many times we’ve lost count, and you’ve never said a word about it - and damn, some of the outfits were bad. From time to time I’ve ripped your innards out, and changed them in a manner more befitting Hannibal Lecter than Percy Shelley, or Lord Byron.
Together we’ve recorded hopes, dreams, laughter, tears, fun times, sad times, despair, hilarity, life, death, birth, and everything inbetween. I’ve written things upon you I shouldn’t have, mangled you, twisted you, ripped you apart, and stuck you together again more times than I might readily admit.
Despite it all, here we are. Trundling forwards like a toy tank, splashing words on the road behind us, and being followed by a rag-tag band of semi interested observers gathered from the four corners of the world.
I wonder what you make of me. If you had a voice, what would you want to say to me? Are you sick of the introverted scribbling? How hard has it been - putting up with my idiocy over the years? Am I really as bad as I think you might think I am?