I blame the Internets.

It started with the cell phone. The one I've had for two years, which is eternity in cell phone life, she was begging to be put out to pasture. I'd dropped her, I'd lost her, I'd found her, she was tired. Plus, she couldn't remind me to do stuff nor keep my contacts all in one place. So on the Internets I went, where I go, oh, maybe a little too frequently. To do what? Don't know. It's a huge time sucker. Can you hear it now, as you read this post? Suuuuuuck. There goes 10 minutes. Bye. On the Internets I found my new love. She's a beaut. Yes, I've already dropped her. Sorry 'bout that Ethel. Ethel talks to Lucy, my laptop. Via Bluetooth. One of the best computer inventions to ever come out of Star Trek.

Then we had to get to know each other. Set up this software, hotsync 438 times. Set up email push. Curse the day you found her. More time sucking. Hours. Days. But that can't really explain how I've become as an infrequent poster as Kate or how, gasp!, Otter has out-posted moi in the past few weeks.

No, no, really, it's because I've got shit to do, man. I've got sitting around, figuring out my new marketing strategies to do. I've got petunias to water. Dogs to walk. A fricken triathlon in 9 weeks. OMG. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Go back to watering petunias. Go baaaack. I've got invoices to round up. I've got people to eat lunch with. And drink cocktails with. And phone calls with my BFF three times a day. I've got shit to do.

Not that I don't love you, I do. I just sometimes don't have much to talk about. OR the stuff I want to talk about is such time sucking dribble that I don't dare waste your time. Ex: today we went on a 3 mile walk right before sun down. It started to rain. The end. Another gem: It's hotter than Jerry Lewis in a boarding school in my house. Ta-da. Or how about this lively one: I'm trying to buy brown open-toed shoes for weeks, nay, months now with no luck. I've gone to dept stores, discount stores... wait! Come back, I know it's boring! This is why I don't write.

Truth is, I don't think about much when I'm training. This is good. I think too much any other time to make up for it. I think when I'm riding my bike: must. get. up. this. bastard. hill! Oompf!

And then when I'm working, I think about where to put the oval-starburst logo with flashing letters. Deep stuff here.

But it's the Internets fault, you see. If not for all the interesting, mind boggling, inspirational stuff I find out there, I'd think my stories about the difference between how my old socks with no wicking action suck compared to my new socks with awesome wicking-ness would appeal to my six lurkers and five commenters. Oh, no, I've got to come up with the good stuff. I've got to compete with YouTube.