Am I the internet's tumor? Or is it mine?

(This is the world's largest meatball. It is relevant to this article because it looks like a tumor and the guy who made it seems pretty happy about it)

I'm pretty sure the internet has latched itself onto my brain. It has done so incrementally, and what seemed like a symbiotic relationship may have become a parasitic one: a tumor. However, it's hard to say which is the tumor, the internet or me. Fortunately there is Arnold Schwarzenegger's famous line from "Kindergarten Cop" that reassures me, "It's not a tumor." If only I could pretend and be that little kid who hangs out with the ferret and brings his toy to the carpet.

But this little boy may never make it back to the carpet. He has found far too many toys and cannot decide (And, he also seems to have continued to speak of himself in third person for far too long). Really. I am writing this revelatory blog entry after 1:00AM.

Some of you might come to my defense and say, "Aw that's nothing man, you're fine. I stay up until 3 or 4AM." Others of you might be appalled. Others of you stopped reading a while ago due to the fact that you don't stay up this late, or just have short attention spans.

Well, I tell myself all the time that I'm going to go to bed earlier EVERY night. And, every night I always find some movie to watch, article to read, friend to chat to, place to go, etc. to etc. Tonight really is no different. Sure I could blame it on the fact that often times my shifts end at 9PM or even close to 11PM or beyond and I still have to make time for exercise. Then I have to clean myself up, eat, veg out, and/or pretend to have a life beyond work.

But I don't have to do anything. I just do.

I also tell myself things would be different if I were married and had a job with normal hours. Maybe so. But who's to say? Maybe I'm just caught up in being caught up for no reason other than a subconscious curiosity or at least some sort of deeply rooted dissatisfaction with the present moment. Or maybe I just want to prolong the moment and live each waking hour as long as possible.

Well that last idea cannot be. I tend to sleep in when I can. But even that's a precarious assumption. Often when I think I get to sleep in I get woken up after being in bed a mere 3 or 4 hours, and then have to pretend like it was 8, and trying to get back to bed is never the same. The dreams, the REM, the beautiful tapestry of synthetic subconscious reverie sifts like sand through my finger tips.

What is the solution? Probably eating more, staring more out the window, and watching Judge Judy reruns. Yeah.