It's Not My Fault You're The Least Loved Child

I'm starting to notice that I treat this blog like a red-headed step-child that I just can't shake. It sits in the corner, in the dark, starring at me with it's large eyes and freckles glowing softly as the light of a passing car shines on it's face. It just sits and waits for you to look over and make eye contact because when you make eye contact you are forced to sit for hours listening to it go on and on about it's stamp collection and how no one likes it and how it's still a virgin and plans to change it through wacky antics at prom that wont work out because it's a red-headed step-child no one will fuck.

But then I start to feel guilty that I'm leaving this red-headed step-child alone in the dark with no one to talk too but I get easily distracted by shiny things and I'm like "Oh, hey, IS THAT A BIKE?" and then I run outside with my arms flailing and forget about the neglected child no one likes.

Then I start to feel OK with my neglect because, you know, I'm just lazy and caring about neglect just seems like a lot of work.

You know?

Soooooooo much work.

So I'm going to promise to try harder and not neglect and listen to the stories about your stamp collect.....

Oh fuck, is that a bike?