Internet intervention

I've decided I spend too much time on the internet. This is not some shocking revelation, nor is the situation so dire as to require a cold-turkey approach—I am not relying on iChat to replace actual chatting or iSex (it must exist) to replace actual sex. I have not yet been reduced to ordering groceries online and having them delivered. However, earlier this week there was a day that, during an especially intense Facebook excursion, I almost rationalized that I did not have time to go the gym. Now, in my current pathetic jobless state, there are some things I'm lacking: Extra cash. Motivation to get up early. Self-respect. But time? Time I've got. In spades. Time that I could surely be putting to better use doing charity work, starting my novel, or, you know, learning the shows I'm working on this year.

I don't want you to get the wrong idea. I am as big a fan of the internet as the next guy. I find it quite useful for blogging, emailing, picture-sharing, finding out when the next season of The Office comes out on DVD (this Tuesday, I'm so excited!), settling arguments about the proper use of "capitol" v. "capital," and, of course, stalking ex-boyfriends. But realistically, all of that should take under an hour per day, which is not realistically the amount of time I generally spend staring at the screen.

First there are the blogs. Until about 5 minutes ago, I was subscribed to 74 blogs on Google Reader. As of now, that number has been cut down to 44 (I'm pretty sure that's the second step, after admitting you have a problem). Lately I've been packing on the design blogs in a vain attempt to curtail my nesting instinct, as well as trying out new blogs linked to by bloggers I like. Not surprisingly the ones that made the cut are either friends or blogs I've been reading for a long time, with a few notable exceptions (I'm looking at you, Carl).

But worse than blogs, worse than shopping, worse than (and oddly similar to) porn, is Facebook (or Stalkerbook, as I prefer to call it). All those people you've tried hard to forget since high school, college, or that one dreadful summer? They're on Facebook, and they want to be "friends" with you and show you pictures of their drunken escapades, lists of their favorite movies, and the eclectic groups of people you have in common. And the worst thing is…it's fascinating. Never before have I felt so intimately involved in the lives of people I barely know. When I go to my Facebook home page, I'm alerted as to which of my friends have talked to each other, which have broken up, and which have recently thrown toga parties (a bizarrely high number, considering my age). And, while there is a part of me that would like to quit altogether, or at least make a drastic friend purge, I know I won't. Even after witnessing dramatic (and false) rumors started based on someone's "status" and sick days busted after drunken photos of the night before are posted. The best I can do is to turn down friend requests from people I don't recognize (or, let's be honest, just don't like), hold myself back from posting too many details about myself (that's what this blog is for, right?), and try to take days off.

It helps that internet reception at CameraMan's apartment, where I'm shacking up temporarily, is sketchy at times and limited to only one computer. It also helps that almost everybody is back in town, so I'm starting to have something resembling a social life: happy hour on Tuesday, Astros games last night and tomorrow, meals on the go between CameraMan's rehearsals, and gym dates with Little Miss Hardcore.

It does not help that My Gay Husband has just started a wickedly funny blog.

Oh well. One day at a time, right?