stagnate. no, make that stagnatey.

Parenting is forcing patience, forcing modulated tone and even pace and planning and forethought (yes, and not the sexy kind, either, you kinky-azz bitches) on my sorry, stubborn frame. I'll let you know whether that's a good, grand thing later. Also, I'll inform you as to whether I am newly worshipful of blogging again because I can do it on my phone (okay, now that one sounded dirty to me, too) or whether I am forced to finally shoot my blog in the face, Cheney-style (so, pepper-spray of buckshot). The sole dilemma I envision with this option is that my blog isn't old enough (mid-eighties, that is) to necessarily understand the importance of respecting me after said shooting by taking full responsibility for the whole event. Like a good blog should.