a conversation re. updating

"You," I say, stifling a yawn, "Need to stop poking me. I know I need to write online, but I keep putting it off."

"Oh!" You say rather condescendingly. "I understand, since there's probably nothing happening where you are. You've probably been too busy sleeping and moping and roaming around the house in tattered sweatpants."

"No!" I shout, for I must dismiss those rumours that are floating about. I mean, really, sweatpants? Can't stand the horrid things.

I smile ingratiatingly. "It's not that I don't have things to write about -- oh, I do, I do. There is so much to write about; perhaps too much. That must be it! I have so many things to write about that I can't single only ONE out to discuss!"

"Fine," you declare, rather triumphantly, "Don't pick one! Spill them all! Divulge all the details! Spare none from the exposure of the blogging world!"

"But oh," I'll sigh, "I'm far too tired to have time to discuss them all. I've been so busy, with working on accounts/finding a church/setting the date/discovering my wedding dress/compiling a guest list/spreading the tidings/smooching John/all the other daily activities that get in the way." ("Except for the 'smooching John' part," I'll say mournfully, "As those times are painfully few and far between, since we only see each other a few times a month, now.")

And then I'll sigh again, heavily, for good measure, to emphasise just.how.busy I've been.