This is luxurious. Time to write. Time to write at home. I can't remember when I was last able to do this, this getting up in the morning in my own time, drinking tea made in a pot while looking through the window at my cat hunting leaves, rather than gulping tea made from a hastily squeezed teabag between attempts to cram papers and books into a briefcase. I might even manage a kind of breakfast today.

It's good day to be at home too - the forecast is snow.

Time to write, but life is so small at the moment that I have little to say.

Or maybe, I'm just out of practice at saying - and thinking.

There are things to do - nothing too pressing though. And no need to watch a clock, to hurry from task to task. No deadlines.

In a minute, I'll pile on woollies, find wellies, call my dog and stroll round the park (where suddenly there are swathes of snowdrops and crocuses under the trees; and, equally suddenly, it is light enough to see them in the morning before work), before picking up a newspaper. I might even buy two.

And later? Later I could dawdle through a few domestic chores - iron clothes while listening to BBC R4, perhaps; write a letter with a pen on paper (when did that become a luxury?).

I am too contrary. I am dreaming up an old-fashioned kind of day, while tapping away on a laptop keyboard.

I didn't even manage a completely old-fashioned day while on holiday last week. Yes, I read; and wrote postcards; and neither watched television nor listened to the radio - but I relied heavily on an MP3 player to create a small bubble for my existence. We lived almost simply for a week on Skye last year, but then watched DVDs in the evenings. Has it become impossible to live without the technology that just passes time?

Another question: why am I blogging (and how I hate that word!) instead of writing with a pen on pages in a diary?

I am blogging because, despite all aspirations, I love certain kinds of technology. I am enchanted by the way I can make the rest of the world disappear without effort by plugging myself into an MP3 player; I am addicted to digital radio. It's something to do with being 'in the world' without responsibility.

Is it just irresponsibility then? Why blog rather than write letters (or email?)? Is that something to do with the freedom to write without judgement? Is it all an escape from judgement? Or an escape from people? And have people lost the skills required to create, maintain and respect distance?

I am becoming aware that this train (not train - too linear: knot) of thought is somehow connected with Tweeting - or rather, with my inability at present to understand the lure of Tweeting.

OK, if that's the case, then let's try to go head to head with that.

I am beguiled by the ability to interact with others in such a way as to create intimacy without invasion. What has become known as the touchy-feely approach at best irritates me; and at worst, it sickens. It is what I'd like to describe as 'poor man's interaction' if there wasn't a danger of enraging folk through (what will undoubtedly be deemed) politically incorrectness. It's something to do with the content of interaction. Thinking is no longer acceptable - one must always feel; the intellectual is frowned upon: we may talk from the heart but not from the mind (and, on reflection, we can also acknowledge body but not soul). It is as if we are encouraged - perhaps even forced - to remain childish.

'What are you doing?': the question from Tweeter. Most people are doing exactly the same as thousands upon thousands of other people. Might a better question be 'What are you thinking?' Well, it might, if people didn't associate that with invasion. And why do they do that? Is it because, often, people know that what they are thinking is not interesting, or what they are unhappy acknowledging Might it also be because, often, people don't know what they are thinking because out of practice? All too often, we are encouraged to vent, but maybe we also be encouraged to think before we speak - not in order to protect others but to learn from ourselves.

'What are you doing?' was once a question associated by many with childhood. It is asked when a child is exploring, doing something that has been prohibited; or it is asked with a chuckle in the voice because the child is unintentionally doing something amusing. When asked of an adult, it is often coupled with exasperation, the exception being when one is genuinely interested in everything another is doing - during the wonderful, heady, early stages of a relationship when phone calls are about connecting without communicating. Here's the rub: using 'what are you doing?' in this last way is out of self-interest. You create the connection to feel better - and it works because feeling better comes just from assurance that the other is still there - wherever that is - and you are part of it, whatever it is. Like a toddler who cannot bear lose sight of a parent. And for the questioned: it is alluring because it suggests that you have value for someone whatever you are doing.

Unlike the real world, however, you can ignore a tweet when you please.

What has made all this so alluring - in some cases, to the the point of addictive? First thought: society. Something about the way we live means that, for many, we are lonely; we crave contact, yet haven't the time or situation to develop contact with others. The phrase 'quality time' once was associated with parenting but is is now common parlance when describing time spent with lovers, partners, friends. My concern: we are finding shortcuts to friendship, and will lose the ability to make and keep friends.