Surf City
There are days when I am a Wild Woman on the internet. I start at one of the bookmarks in my Weblog file, cursor over to their 'suggested reading' sidebar and let loose. My boss will come around the corner of my cubicle (is it still called a cubicle if it only has two sides, held up by a desk?) and while she's speaking to me, I can see her eyes roving over to my monitor and the 27 little browser window tabs in my task bar. Then, the end of the day rolls around and I haven't had the chance to properly puruse them all, so they're saved into my Favorites folder for future time-suckage. Hence, when I click on the Favorites button, my entire screen disappears while I decide who to visit.

Sadly, the ones I decide to visit the most are the ones who either update once in a blue moon, or have gone on hiatus altogether. Yes, I realize I'm on their notify lists and will be contacted when there is new stuff to read, but that doesn't stop me, no sir. I go back and back and back, probably causing them to look at their stats and shake their heads over this little groupie who just cannot lay off the bookmarks. In this society of online journallers, it actually is a kind of 'eureka!' moment when I stumble upon the writings of someone I either relate to or whose scribblings are truly a pleasure to read, in which case I care not if they have anything in common with me.

So today, I'm like a woman possessed, my mouse imitating the sound of a pair of castanettes. Hell yeah, it's an addiction, but the only victim will be my right hand index finger, which seems to rapidly be developing Trigger Finger.

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3:06 p.m.

So, I just got back from scarfing down a hot fudge sundae with nuts and Nerds. As I sit at my desk I hear, in the distance, the faint scrabbling of the Guilt Trolls, emerging from their musty lair, laden with pounds of blubber meant for my belly, the better to make my clothes tighter and tighter.

(It was for charity, okay?)

Posted at 1:40 p.m.