Guilty Pleasure

I don't smoke or drink and I don't do drugs either. Nor do I want to. I don't refrain from using the internet though, and I must admit that it can be quite addictive. I don't think I'm addicted to the internet--I mean, I didn't go through withdrawal symptoms when I couldn't use the net--but I can't be positively sure either, since addicts always deny the fact that they're addicted.

Recently, I've been very into Facebook. This is simply the same old thing that manifests itself in a different from. Some time ago I was much too keen on fanfictions for my liking, and now Facebook trades place with them.

I admit that it's stupid. Nerds who spend all their waking hours trying to crack computer codes make more sense than me and my crazy obsession with Facebook apps. There's a challenge in code-cracking, a challenge that makes your brain craved for more and more. Facebook apps? What the hell is so good about them that I'm always inclined to try them out every time I log in?

Last week, I spent three hours on the internet and most were spent on Facebook. Afterwards, I was left with a sense of guilt. Guilty because I spent my time and money for such a useless thing. Lucky that we still use the ancient dial-up internet connection at home. If the connection was faster, I don't know how much more time I would spend on it.

Nevertheless, I can't help wondering why I felt so pleased after I managed to send "gifts" to my friends and acquaintances via Facebook, or to add some collections to my Visual Bookshelf. Yet I know that it was a hollow feeling, meaningless. Did I become more of myself after I did that? Certainly not. So why the fulfillment?

Will I ever stop?