My blog updates are coming in spurts ("Spurt" is a horrible word.  It's too close to "squirt", and that word should just be illegal. It always reminds me of the time at a family dinner when Clay's Papaw said "My corn on the cob squirted all over you!" I had a bird named Squirt once.  True story.) Being busy is a horrible excuse because everyone's busy, but there seriously just are not enough hours in the day.  I sit at my desk and think about things I'd really like to write about, but after work it's straight to softball or the trail or guitar or my DVR, and I ended up knocking my blog down on my priority scale.  My frequent updates are not a great loss to the literary world by any means, but I miss it, and I need to make time for it.

I feel like I have to justify myself constantly.  Whenever there's a lapse in my writing, I feel the need to explain myself (like anyone cares).  I do that with everything.  I returned a cardigan the other day and went into a five minute tangent about how I wasn't bringing it back because there was anything wrong with it per say, I just wasn't sure I liked the ruffle detail because it seemed to be a little TOO ruffle-y, and I felt like my body was slowly being consumed by ruffles and other people would think I looked like a garden flower.  Clayton finally told me to stop talking, and the salesgirl looked like she was grateful to him.  Well, sorry, but I don't want to just slap the sweater (with the tag ripped off) onto the counter and be say, "ME NO LIKEY. YOU TAKE BACK-EY!".  I felt like I should give a reason because I don't want to look like a snobby jerk or discredit the sweater and risk offending the entity that is The Limited. Likewise, I don't want anyone to think I'm lazy.  Even though I'm pretty lazy.  It's all about keeping up appearances.

Side note: I'm watching America's Next Top Model and Tyra just said to a model, "You didn't give us predatorial.  You didn't even give us editorial.  You gave us DEAD-atorial."  Okay, seriously, how come she gets to be on TV saying ridiculous things like that, and I'm stuck here occasionally updating a semi-tolerable blog that all of two people read?  She doesn't give us enjoyment.  She doesn't even give us employment.  She gives us DEAD-oyment.   Damn, that doesn't work there.


Thanks to the fast-approaching fall weather, the sun is setting earlier and earlier everyday.  I wasn't able to escape from work until almost seven o'clock tonight, so I didn't hit the trail for my 5 mile run until it was close to dark.  My run started out in the sunshine, but by my last mile I couldn't see two-feet in front of my face.  My mom used to freak out when I went running in high school because I ALWAYS ran at night, and she was certain I'd be lured into a stranger's van, curious with the promise of candy (I do love Blow Pops). I would just roll my eyes at her and go out anyway because I thought parental worry was just silly, but age and maturity has made me a giant scaredy cat and now I avoid running in the dark at all costs. 

So yeah, I was kinda wiggin' out tonight when the crickets started getting louder than my music. About 3/4 through my run I finally made out a blue shirt bobbing around some distance in front of me and quickly deduced that it was a fellow runner (I have a college degree!)  I tried to speed up and keep pace with him so I'd feel safer in his company, but he must have been from Kenya or something because he bolted out of my line of vision and I was alone again.  Sucking it up, I continued on my way, trying to concentrate on my Lady Gaga mix instead of all the bad things that could possibly happen to a young woman running alone at night.  But then "Bad Romance" came on my iPod and the, "Rah-rah-rah-ah-ah-ah" reminded me of dinosaurs roaring  ... then that somehow led to thinking about Halloween ... then I ran by a bush that looked like a hunched over, socially backwards, chainsaw-wielding butcher and things went completely downhill from there.

But in other news, I ran my fastest time yet tonight!

Other side note:  Clayton just choked on a green bean.  It happened while he was holding a plate full of green beans, so again, I deduced that the green beans were the culprit (I have a college degree from a state university!).  He took a sip of Diet Coke to wash it down, and I went back to typing.  I looked up at him a few moments later to ask him something and noticed that he was STILL choking.  When he finally managed to direct the green bean down the correct pipe, he got kinda pissy with me because I was ignoring him in his time of need.  I seriously thought he got quiet because he was DONE choking, not because he was almost dead.  Ooops.