I can finally say it: I feel guilty that I am no longer a journalist.

It all started last week, when my subscription to The CA suddenly stopped. Turns out they hadn’t sent me a bill, but the point is that it took me THREE DAYS to call and re-up. Did I miss that dead-tree reading experience? A little, I guess, but the online version was almost as good.

Then I got a Kindle. You know, one of those handheld reading devices that Amazon sells. (Actually, I am borrowing the St. Mary’s “review copy” of a Kindle, but it lives in my house, so I guess it’s mine.) And you know what? I really like it. The device sort of disappears as you use it — you just read your story, you forget you’re not actually holding a book — and it’s easy to figure out. I am reading the daily New York Times on the Kindle, too.

So you can see why I’m worried that I’m about to get struck by lightning. All those years making a living in print journalism. All those great stories I never got to tell. Never mind that the industry is imploding and fewer reporters are doing more work in less depth. And forget, for a moment, that I really am enjoying my new life as a private school fundraiser/communicator.

I still miss journalism.