hiding out in the cellar

I always think it's a bad sign when I feel guilt about not making entries here. I watch the hits go down, and when I start to notice that even the most loyal readers are checking in less often, I know that I've gone into stealth mode. Then I wonder all over again why I do this. When I go back through some of my older entries, I notice that I've got some good writing here from time to time (and also some utter crap), so I suppose it's that more than anything else. I like to see myself write the way others like to hear themselves talk. I talk not so good. I write ok. I think the concept still tickles me as well, even as the rest of the wired world migrates off in different directions to use MUDDs, MMORPGs, and SLOODLES. I struggle to keep up with blogjects, understand their relationship with RFIDs, and now there are these Kirkam (Kircam? ( can't remember)) things. I get the occasional clever idea and then discover that somebody had much the same idea in 1993 -- so long ago that it's now forgotten and ready to be reborn. Are we really going anywhere new with this social networking stuff? Am I wasting my time?

Today, I'm spending a beautiful sunny day, a February rarity, holed up in my basement, hiding from day job responsibilities to get far enough ahead on the book to avoid the quickening panic that is starting to wake me up at 3 am. I'm also dreaming a lot. This, too, is rare. And drinking less (even rarer). I've got practical, real worldly things to get done -- I've got to go to the bank, empty out a big storage locker, chip ice from the sidewalk. Yet all I seem to be able to do is to chip away at a chapter, look up from it occasionally to do a little surf through the news sites, notice how tired I feel, and wonder what is in the back of the fridge that I might eat. The sun may be out, but there's no doubt what month it is.