I mentioned yesterday about how I was more resurfacing than back.
I read this passage over my holiday:
I can’t shake the feeling that all the running I do to keep up, all the hobnobbing on the treadmill of the Internet, all the tweeting, blogging, Instagramming, and Tumblring, all the gut-wrenching time I put in to being relevant, isn’t just a feeble way to plug a forefinger into the dike, to stall my inevitable slow ebb into obscurity.
Summers, Chelsea G.. A Certain Hunger (p. 193)
A benefit of time off was the loss of the treadmill but it begs the question – if the Internet is a tread mill, why are we on it?
Lost and Desperate 