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Confessions of a techno-slave

I think there must be something wrong with me. I was lucky enough to have the opportunity to travel to Paris recently (Paris, France that is – not Paris, Ont.) and tack on a few vacation days to a conference I was already attending in another part of that country. So far so good, right?

I had already decided against bringing a laptop – I reasoned that it would be too heavy to lug around with me, and I also didn’t want to have to worry about the possibility of it getting lost or stolen. I knew I’d have extensive computer access while at the conference, including e-mail and Internet capabilities. I didn’t think I would miss a few days without access once the conference was over. After all, it was technically a vacation at that point. If you are with me so far, you have probably already figured out what I’m going to say next. I’d find it hard to believe I’m the only slave to technology out there, especially in this industry.

So there I was, in my hotel room in the City of Light, the world at my feet and all that and more outside my window. One wouldn’t think the lack of Internet access would bother me. But it did. In fact, it almost drove me crazy.

It’s not that I didn’t have enough distractions and interesting things around me, what with all the museums and art galleries about, not to mention the hours in caf

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