How did I waste my time before web surfing? I can’t remember. I’ve always read a lot so I probably just laid down and killed an hour in whatever book I was reading. Even if one hour was three hours, I was progressing through a singular creative endeavor. There was a beginning, middle and an end. Even an accomplishment of sorts, the number of books read in this lifetime went up a tick. Now I find myself unspooling yards of precious time ravenously consuming information; topical, political, gastronomical, self helpful, musical, criminal, reviewing, critiquing, criticizing, maligning, malignant and benign. A deeply unsatisfying hobby that never completes, never fulfills, makes me feel shitty and yet lures me like a cat stalking a laser pointer light. As long as I am there, I am nowhere else. Apparently I really really want that, if actions speak louder than words and what not. I can control it if I try but because I am on the computer all day, the e-portal to Future Oblivion is where I find myself when professional responsibilities end and domestic responsibilities begin. That intersection is a bitch for me. I have hard time going from virtual to physical. But wasting time web surfing is like leaving dog shit on the sidewalk of transition. The smelly remains of crap linger.
Sidewalk Face 