My friend, Chickaboomer, of Chickaboomer blog fame posted an entry on how blogging may be dangersous to ones health. The New York Times wrote an article on it that you can find here:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/06/technology/06sweat.html?ei=5065&en=1c3f36a3531123cb&ex=1208059200&partner=MYWAY&pagewanted=print
I started working out of a home office, in part, because I wanted to be less stressed. But most bloggers, who get paid for their writing, do it from home offices, and the article details the death by stress, or by unhealthy living habits that can develop when a person works from home.
Chickaboomer took some time off. I don't post much when I'm busy writing for clients.
The Internet has inspired new ways for people to keep tabs on one another. There's a Twitter account linked up to this blog. If I was so inclined, I could have text messaged to Twitter, an hour ago, that I took my 14 year old dog walking with a kid who is off from school today. Her parents work. She's hanging out with her grandparents and uncles who live across the street from me. She's got nothing to do other than to play video games, watch TV and hang out with my husband and me and our four dogs. Reading books isn't tops on her list. Well, she is in third grade. She might not have developed the reading skills to be able to get absorbed in the types of books that are as exciting as video-gaming to the hard rock-n-roll of the 70s and 80s; or shooting bad guys out of her anamorphic alter-ego. The good news is that she doesn't have the broadband access that will allow her to get hooked in the alter-worlds of social clubs on the Internet, including reading Twitter or blog posts.
I've often pondered in my writing here whether I would have anything worthy to muse about when compared to all the other blogs out there. Now I know I shouldn't worry so much about that. The volume of my posts don't earn me any money. My paid clients couldn't care less about my inner thoughts. I write for my own pleasure, mostly, and as a release of creative forms of thinking--or an outlet for my free-thoughts; those not tide to work that I'm (hopefully!) paid to perform.
How about you?
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