I love my blog.
I weely, weely do.
(Sorry. Lily's standing next to me, telling me she weely, weely loves me and oh! there's some candy right there! Can she have it???)
(Of course, her weely loving me has nothing whatsoever to do with the candy sitting next to me.)
(Neither do those big, puppy dog eyes she's giving me.)
This blog is my space, my outlet, my pathetic obsession.
But as much as I love this blog, I don't expect other people to.
After all, it's MY blog. My creation. My words. My thought dominoes. My something or another.
I'm supposed to love it because it's mine, but other people are under no obligation to like it.
(Except my parents. My parents have to love me, my blog, and my cooking. It's in the contract.)
It's so very flattering to know that other, non-obligatory people actually read my blog.
And like it! Alot!
I have followers that I don't know from Adam, who live off in Timbuktu somewhere.
I get emails from blog readers.
Text messages, hey read ur blog 2day... ur so talented. (Talented! Me! I'm talented!)
I'm on other people's blog lists... because they like me.
My fans stop me in Walmart, begging for my time and autograph... just kidding. That one hasn't happened. Yet.
And I bask in all the attention, blushing demurely.
So, to my fan club out there, I'm glad you like me.
Because I weely like you too.