You were sleepy (and a little grumpy) when you came downstairs, into the kitchen, to get something to eat and then go back to bed, because you were still working nights and tired all the time.

You said: What are you doing, playing on the computer?

I said: I’m not playing; I’m writing.

What are you writing?

I think I’m going to start a blog.

What’s a blog – like Facebook or something?

Something like that, yes.

What are you going to blorg about?
(You have always been like my father this way, using silly-sounding, made-up words.)

I’m not sure, maybe cooking, or maybe it will be photos – a photo blog that’s like a gallery.

You’re not going to put any pictures of me on your blorg, right?

I might, yes.



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