addiction, thy name is 'today on oprah'

If I were a regular reader of this blog, I would likely check today's entry with the expectation that the author would have written something touching about the day prior, her first official second Sunday in May as a mother. And that is what the subject of today's blog is going to be, but rather than celebrate all the wonderful things I did with my son yesterday, I seek penance. Because a large chunk of my day was not spent strolling through Ottawa's Tulip Festival with Adoring and Wonderful Husband and Babe, as other normal families likely did, but rather I sat in a sloth in front of what is proving to be the crack cocaine of my maternity leave, a Days of Our Lives time-wasting equivalent: this blog. And you, dear reader, are my enabler. My pusher. My pimp, as it were. "What in the heck were you doing all day?" you may wonder. "I see no marked changes since my last visit." And you are right. Except for the title box, and those snappy little snippets running down the upper right side (which I don't know why I put them there, after the last quote crisis I had), I got nothin'. (The chill little Shoutbox I put up was promptly taken down after I realized it came with a nasty little case of advertising pop-up-itis for the pleasure of its use. I refuse to give you that repugnant condition, because...well I'll just put it out there now...I love you.) Anyhoo, the thing about using this particular blog publisher is that you can see a list of everybody else's recently updated their sites and go to them. And when you are trying to "borrow" HTML code from those blogs you think are nicely set up, this is exactly what you do. And then you get sucked into the peepshow that is the OPB (Other Peoples' Blogsites). To wit: Ned's Mother's Day entry where he spews his total dislike for his mother (which is putting it mildly); Ana's latest trip to her psychiatrist (including a detailed list of all the latest drugs he's prescribed her); to-do-lists that include 'call cat psychic'; and a million other little neurotic things people do during the day and then write about that night when in Blogland.

I guess the way I spent my Sunday could be worse. I could've been doped up on Prozac, swearing about my mother, and deeply troubled about Toonces' apparent communication with the dead, or some equally bothersome behaviour.

Blogging is fun. You should try it.