My overall mental health got a boost last week while I was on vacation.
I moved, which meant that for six days, I had neither cable television nor Internet, or email access of any kind.
You would think that this situation might lead to some serious withdrawal symptoms, like twitching, night terrors, hallucinations of giant bug-headed babies (or baby-headed bugs), random yelping and spontaneous limb self-removal.
Nope. Moving will keep you busy, of course, and after I'd unpacked a sufficient number of boxes, I would lie down with a book.
I finished Anathem, by Neal Stephenson, a book which is the exact opposite of the click-click-click short attention span style of modern, wired life.
Anathem is 900 pages long. Then it has three appendices. It's a science fiction novel in which characters can debate the Platonic nature of the multiverse for six or seven pages at a stretch.
Then there might be a kung fu fight or a volcanic eruption. It's that kind of a book.
I love reading novels, probably the quintessential long-attention-span activity.
Before the move, I told a couple of people that I had finished packing my books, which meant I was around 70 or 80 per cent done all of my packing. Friends, especially those who have seen my place, just nodded.
More casual acquaintances gave me strange looks.
Unfortunately, I feel like the world is conspiring to chip away at my attention span. As I write this, the little email icon on my desktop is bouncing up and down as frantically as a toddler sitting on an anthill.
New messages, junk-mail, whatever. Nine tenths of it gets tossed straight into the trash. I have RSS readers to check for news, there are Google alerts flying, and I'm always keeping an eye on Twitter and Facebook.
Yes, around here, messing around with social media is part of the job description, not something to do when the boss isn't looking.
Also, sometimes people call me for a form of voice communication on something called a "landline telephone."
Essentially, it means I'm seldom doing anything for more than about 10 minutes at a time.
Beyond work, I'm perfectly capable of distracting myself with my toys.
Ever sat down, clicked on an Internet browser, and realized three hours later that only your mouse-hand has moved?
Every stray thought that runs through my head can now be answered.
When was cheese invented? Who fought the last judicial duel in England? Has anyone built a house entirely out of Lego?
Does Coke ever go bad? How many Top 40 hits did Meat Loaf have? I love having the ability to get at any of this information at any time of the day or night.
But while it satisfies my curiosity, it's doing nothing to get me any exercise or help me do anything productive - at least until I get that slot on Jeopardy!
Too much time on the Internet can leave me twitchy, jerky, feeling strange and out of sorts.
It's after too much of this time spent online that I really need to decompress. My six-day Internet-free zone did a really good job of smoothing out the rough, scratchy parts of my brain.
Now, I'm plotting ways to help support my reading habit instead of feeding my Internet trivia bingeing habit.
In particular, I'm thinking of getting a nice deck chair for the summer, next to which I can place a tall, cold drink, and a taller stack of books.
Matthew Claxton is a reporter for the Langley Advance.
