There comes a time in every blogger's life when it seems that there is nothing left to say: Either it feels as though you've already said everything there is to be said, or, if you haven't said it, someone else has. That's how I have felt the last few days regarding posting -- I don't have much to talk about. I'm still running, yes, but nothing very remarkable has happened. The poop phenonmenon was a blog blessing in disguise since it gave me something noteworthy to relate, but otherwise, I feel as though I really have nothing to report.
I once read another blogger's (not a running blogger) rant about the things he hated seeing in blogs and one of them was writing about not having anything to write about, and I took that to heart, and so I decided I wouldn't ever write a post complaining about how I have nothing to write about (the equivilant, I suppose, of saying there's nothing to eat in a house full of food). However, here I am doing the exact thing I thought I wouldn't fall prey to.
Oh well, might as well complain that there's nothing at home to eat. So, honey husband, if you're reading this, bring something home for dinner.