I Love My Phone

I love my phone. As I was sitting in the chair at the dentist's office yesterday afternoon, waiting for him to come over and repair a tooth I'd chipped, I was surfing the Internet, reading about J.K. Rowling and her latest plagiarism accusation--research for one of my recent blog posts.

My husband bought my phone for me for Christmas. He knows how much I love to be able to surf the Web and check Facebook, and with my little Verizon Droid phone, I can do these things from virtually anywhere!

This also poses a problem, though: anywhere I go, I can now easily ignore my family. I mentioned this to my dentist and his hygienist, who both giggled at the idea, but it's true. And while in some circumstances (e.g., Chuck E. Cheese) it might not be such a bad thing to ignore family, during our quiet family time watching a movie or while playing Rock Band at the neighbors' house, well, it becomes too much of a good thing, and a little embarrassing.

I used to make fun of my husband and his use of his Blackberry--or "Crackberry," as it's called by many. I now have no room to speak.

I'll admit it; I am addicted to my phone. It is absolutely wonderful to be able to converse with friends via Facebook while in the waiting room at the doctor's office, rather than reading germ-ridden seven-month-old magazines. And in addition to my phone, I'm addicted to technology in general. Hell, I can't even go for a run anymore without my iPod, and I recall being able to run just fine without it while in Cross Country many years ago. Back then, I enjoyed the scenery more than the Black Eyed Peas, Beck, Cake and MGMT.

You know, though, I've admitted that I have a problem, and from what I understand about addiction, that's the first of the 12-step recovery process. Who knows if I'll ever be able to call myself a "recovering technology addict," but quite frankly, I don't give a damn.