Mowing through the morning

"Are you blogging again?" asks my colleague as she steps into my office. Yes, of course I'm blogging. "You're addicted," she says. I'm willing to entertain the proposition, especially after spending four days at a conference where I willingly paid $5 once or twice every day just to spend 20 minutes on a computer. I would sign on and then frantically scroll through my e-mail and post a blog entry; when the "60 seconds remaining" warning popped up, I would hit "publish" without even proof-reading. Is that addiction?

I can stop any time I want. Today, for instance, I could just skip posting and go do something more interesting, like watch the grass grow, which is pretty exciting these days since the grass is growing at the speed of Indy 500 race cars. I could go cut the grass, except the power mower is in the shop (fourth new transmission in two years) and the manufacturer has agreed to refund the full purchase price and we can't buy a new mower until the refund check arrives in the mail. I could use the reel mower, but it works best when the grass is under twelve feet tall--and besides, it hasn't been used since last summer, so it probably needs sharpening. So instead I think I'll blog.

I could mow through the papers piled on my desk, I suppose, but the grading pile has shrunk to infinitesimal proportions, and when the pile is under a half-inch tall, the task just loses all sense of challenge. I could write up minutes from Monday's faculty council meeting or revise a proposal or file some folders. Or I could blog. Blogging feels like exercise: my fingers fly across the keys, incinerating calories and strengthening those all-important finger muscles. It's a virtuous act. It's writing. At least that's what I tell myself. And if that makes me addicted, at least it's a harmless addiction. No persons or animals were injured in the writing of this blog, which is more than I can say for my mowing skills.