Hooked
I smoked cigarettes during a large portion of my
young adult life. Strangely enough, I picked up the
nasty habit after dreaming about smoking and
deciding to give it a try. A few puffs and I was
hooked for the next 12 years. I started smoking
during my stay in Honduras as an exchange student.
I smoked during my post-high school days as an
Aardvark. I smoked all
through my time in the Navy. I even smoked all
through college. It wasn't until I turned 30 that I
finally kicked the habit after many unsuccessful
attempts.
Ironically, I abandoned this addiction at the
same time I became a junkie of another sort. Right
around the time I graduated from college and quit
smoking, I bought a new computer that came with a
program called "eWorld" pre-installed. eWorld
was an "online service," a term which few people at
that time had heard of. I'd briefly flirted with a
fledgling America Online on a friend's computer
back in 1992, so I had an inkling of what to
expect. I logged on for the very first time,
becoming "Eomer" (of Tolkien's books) in an online
community that numbered well below 10,000. Soon, I
was spending long hours in chat rooms, becoming a
well-known member amongst a select few who
frequented the chat areas. At a time when online
services still charged by the hour, I spent far
more than a recent college grad should have been
spending on such gratuitous pleasures.
But it was a new and fascinating medium, and
meeting new people mind to mind became a heady
thrill (no pun intended). As someone has since
commented to me with regard to chat rooms, "you
can't fake intelligence." There's more than a
little truth in that, and I met some pretty
colorful people through the monochromatic medium of
scrolling text. In fact, I had lunch with one of
them just two weeks ago, eight years after we met
in the digital halls of eWorld.
eWorld came and went, as did so many Internet
companies in the 1990s. All of us eWorld refugees
migrated to America Online, but quickly became lost
in the ocean of AOL's million-plus membership
(which has since exceeded 30 million, last time I
checked). Nevertheless, I was hooked, and slammed
cyberspace like a heroin junkie mainlining China
White. I spent countless hours online, first
discovering AOL's myriad message boards and content
devoted to writing, then venturing out into the
Wild Wild Web.
But my addiction—my hobby, that
is—paid off. Unlike smoking, which did little
more than give me a momentary head rush and coat my
lungs with tar, my cyber-addiction quickly evolved
into a profession. I wrote online content for
companies like CompuServe and Disney.com, and
taught myself how to design Web pages. I rode the
wave of the 1990s as the Internet exploded. The
surf eventually slammed me onto the beach and left
me high and dry, but it was a fun ride while it
lasted.
I got wise and gave up the cancer sticks a long
time ago. But today, my Internet addiction
continues unabated. Heroin junkies have track marks
up and down their arms. Cocaine addicts develop
extra holes in their nostrils. Me? I've got sore
fingers from typing and a sore wrist from cranking
the mouse. But I think I'm way beyond help. This
monkey's on my back for good.
©2003 Michael
Strickland ALL RIGHTS
RESERVED
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