Poor Little Blog

My blog sits in the corner alternately sulking and quivering with fear. I'm a neglectful Blommy. But today, after I woke up, I picked up my blog and whirled it up in the air and it squealed happily. Then I tickled it and it giggled. And I talked to it quietly and explained that I know I've been mean, but have felt a bit sulky and out of sorts. I haven't felt so consistently exhausted in all my years.
"It's not your fault, Blog. You're a good blog. You give me a way to express myself, and it's just been that I haven't been able to corral my thoughts."
I gave my blog a flower.

And I promised to play more.

A friend of mine sent me a quote by Steven King today,
"The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them - words shrink things that seem limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear."
from The Body, Different Seasons; Stephen King

Indeed.