It occurred to me today that I am in fact a slave to the blog as surely as I have been a slave to my career in the past.
After a half a week of not posting a small vein starts twitching in my neck. The tiny twitch becomes a thump, thump, thump in Starbucks and I am like the fellow in the Edgar Alan Poe novel for whom the beating of the heart of the old man he has murdered becomes so pronounced he has to give himself up.
There I am, out in public, ripping up the floorboards, metaphorically speaking and revealing the corpse to all who care to see it in all it's grisly details - ladies and gentlemen I have neglected by blog. Now lock me up.
Well to be fair I have been busy. I have been winding my way around in small circles of insignificance - wondering why I have taken on assignments that involve asking dumb questions to random people in steamy subdivisions in the middle of the day, and vaguely thinking I have spent half of my life asking futile questions of people who don't care.
But the futility has taken over my life as my old life has slipped back for a couple of days - nothing for it but to call all the people on the list and thus to fuel the futility. Mornings slip by and before I know it I am deftly crafting the futility into the wee small hours.
I start to see why I have people I follow who went on a "blogging break" and never came back. I picture them now in dark caves on a windswept island, muttering about the weather and the messy sea gulls and the perils of falling coconuts - anything as long as they never have to talk about their now defunct blogs.
But some of us stick with it for sure. We are dutiful plodders who put one step in front of another as we head to an indistinct and hilly horizon.
Which is a cue to wimp out and post some pictures of the mountains, but definitely not to go on a blogging break that is a one way ticket to oblivion.