From Fragments from Floyd:

Yes, it concerns me that while this page once had something almost every day about the real world of ridge and meadow, it now contains something almost every day about my doings, my complaints, my things or potential things. Baggage.

It bothers me too how much of my day is spent sitting watching letters appear as my fingers lift and fall; I read the words—my words like chewed cud—to myself silently while the world turns colors and blooms the other side of window panes that might as well be the bars of a cage.

I am trapped in an ergonomic chair. Self-condemned to a sedentary day of pointing, clicking, cutting and pasting. I’ve been banished from the island, and I was the only one who voted.

What ever happened to the balanced life? Where will I find the path that carries me back? And he answered:

For every hour typing, walk an hour.

For every page written, read one in a book.

For every hour inside, spend one under the sun.

For every minute indugled in self, help someone else.

For every dollar spent on (un)necessary toys, give one away.

For every minute blogging, read a blog.

Past your prime? You can’t know that. Bloom late.

For every hour of sitting, stand-walk-run-climb-lift-push-pull an hour.

For every whining want, give thanks for blessings owned.

For every pain, find something that doesn’t hurt. Surely there’s something.

For each day that dawns, be awake. And caffeine can’t help here. Awake. Now.

In all the parts, see the whole.

And don’t stop having these conversations with yourself. You are your best audience.

Listen. Do what’s needed. Do what’s right.

Amen to that, Floyd!