It takes a strong man to admit he’s been neglecting his child. It takes an even stronger man to go down to the cellar, pull off the two-by-four that’s nailed across the door, push open the swollen wood, and untie that shivering, emaciated child.
Yes, my blog was not a flesh and bone child (were it, I would most likely be writing this from a prison cell, and most likely with a shiv in my neck), but it was something that came from my brain’s loins, and those loins are as fertile as any other loins I might have. The only difference is, if I had my brain exposed, an ambulance would come and get me, not a paddy wagon.
I loved this blog. I wrote for it, I photoshopped for it, I even made it a shiny red rocket-ship. And it was happy. Oh, was it happy. With its several hundreds of hits a day, a modest but respectable Google PageRank of 4 out 10, and a father who cared for it, it could have grown to be a strong figure within the blogdom. Now, I look at my six hits a day and wonder: what went wrong?
Sure, I was out of town for most of April, when everythign started going wrong. But that’s no excuse. If there’s one thing I can always get my hands on, it’s the Internet. Plus, travel stories are often the easiest and most entertaining. So, theoretically, I should have been writing more.
The worst part is, I have, like ten drafts saved, waiting to be finished. But you know what they say about letting blog posts fester…Man, you totally know what they say.
Ok, keep an eye out for real this time. The sun is out, I’ve adjusted to the temperature, and I’ve got a solid base tan going: get ready for a creative renaissance up in here.