I have a confession (dim the lights, cue organ music). I have been living with this for some time now, and it's gotten so that I am pretty sure my family has caught on. It's the first thing I do in the morning, and just about the last thing I do at night (besides read this totally boring book that I can't seem to finish without falling asleep but refuse to quit it because I don't quit books, but alas that's for another post). Where was I? Yes - my confession. Here goes...wait for it...
I think - no, I KNOW - I am addicted to the Internet.
"Gasp!" You say. "Is it the porn?" And thankfully, I can say "No, but I like how you think." (j/k) However, it is just about everything else. So what do I look at? Email? Too many times to count. Gossip sites? Seriously, even the stars themselves would get sick of looking at them. Triathlon bloggers? Check them everyday, but I have noticed that no one else seems to maniacally post as much as me. At least knowing that I passed my exam stopped my from looking at the Professional Regulation website every 20 minutes. But it has only been replaced by my new search for a new tri-bike. Geesh!
And don't get me wrong, I love playing around on it, I love chatting on email, I love learning new things. And some people are so funny that's its hard not to want to keep checking to see what's going on. But the problem arises when it distracts me from my work. And sure it could be worse. It could be alcohol or drugs or even cartoons, I know. Or I could even relapses into my old eating patterns, so relatively speaking, perhaps the Internet is not so bad. Perhaps people can call the amount pf physical fitness I partake in as an addiction, but I prefer to alternately view it as my hobby (on good days) and "the evil" (on bad ones).
And for the record, I have had much success reigning in my other addictions. For example, I have not bought a pair of heels or Pumas since I don't know when, and a Haribo gummy cherry has not crossed these lips since Christmas. I limit the amount of tv I watch (sort of) and have stopped collecting tote bags (although if Ellen has anything to say about it, there's a Gucci tote in the my future). I do my own manicures (but leave the narly feet to the professionals) and have somehow managed to boycott the hairdresser, unbeknownst to her. So what else is left for me to indulge in?
I think I might need a detox, and I seem to do better when I am out of the house for long periods of time. Perhaps a schedule, where I can only look at certain times? But what about emergencies? Like, what if Nicole Ritchie goes to rehab, or Lindsey Lohan escapes from hers again? What if a new race is added to North American Sports, or a fellow triathlete has a burning question (like Gu v. bars? It's the age-old dilemma). What if my little Yankee-turned-Southern-boy-brother has some new country music download he needs me to hear (hee-haw!) or my pregnant sister's cleaning lady tells her she's fat cause she eats hotdogs again or my supervisor has a new pun he's trying out? How am I supposed to know this stuff? Huh? How?
Oh, my mind is spinning. I think I need a hit of email to calm me down.