Do it for the joy...

Long week. Work nights. Study days. I realize all that's really happening is that my butt is trading chairs. Sometimes I think I could work nights, but then a morning spent at home makes me think I really don't care if I work at all. Seriously. If I could have enough money and insurance to live well I'd spend my free-time weeding my flower beds, making pie, doing laundry and volunteering for noble causes. And when I volunteer I can say I've had enough and then go home for the day. Only to return with a bright, sunny attitude the next day. I've been working full-time (mostly for newspapers) since I was 21. Now as the 10-year mark approaches I think I would miss it, but not that much. Is there something in you at 30 that slows down and says this is OK? Cause that's where I am. Working nights is most unproductive and studying days is way too productive. I'm about to embark on a new career path and I wonder if I'm just pissing in the wind. Do I give up what I've achieved here or in journalism because I want a job that is different, even if that means starting out by answering phones and making coffee, trying to prove myself again? What's in this for me? Do I have the stamina?

"Would you prefer the easy way? Well, Ok, don't cry." - Ani DiFranco.

Who's listening?

So, I'm setting up a blog. A facebook, a twitter, and a flickr page. But who does all this technology serve. Is it for me? To document my life? Is for the strangers who happened upon it and then use it in news stories when I lose my mind and steal ice cream? Really, who is all this for? Is it akin to hieroglyphics, our paintings on the walls of caves to remind people with a trail of metadata that we were here. We thought. We felt, we struggle. Is it for me? Is this online journaling supposed to help me better understand life and where I fit in to it all?

I'm not sure. I'm guessing we've evolved into compulsive creatures who to share every thought or blurb through a text message to a variety of Web sites. I'm still trying to figure out where updating all the various sites fits in my list of daily tasks. I like the idea of a blog and love to read other people's blog. It's like peeping in their windows. But is there a point when all becomes meaningless?

When my grandmother died we went through her things. She kept a daily journal for most of her life. Some of the entries in the slim calendar books were cryptic, "drank Pepsi," or "Cubs lost." While brief we get an idea of what her days were like and what was important to her. We still have the journals and still sometimes go through them. Will twitter posts and others hold the same meaning? A flimsy printout doesn't embody the same sense of history. But maybe that's the difference. Even when we stop producing, there is a live and dynamic version of us on the Web. Is there a shelf life for such things?

I can't claim Luddite privileges and put my head in the sand. Afterall, I did meet my husband on myspace.