It starts innocently enough. I go to bitly.com because I’m in the mood for some serious URL shortening and I want to set up a bitly account in order to do so. Then I get to the website to find that in some time period long, long ago, I had an account already set up.
Now, the fun part. We’ll call this section “password remembering,” because I won’t – remember I mean. It’s been so long since I first set up the account, that the password is but a distant whisper deep within the recesses of my brain.
Next stop, “resetting the password.” But what is my user name? Ha! That will get me every time. So I decide to just open up a whole new account, even though it bothers me ever so slightly that now I have two accounts for the same website.
So I’m a little obsessive compulsive, it happens to the best of us.
Then I blink, and when my vision clears, I find that somehow I’m on Google Analytics setting up an account for my website to be monitored by The Great God Google, and I’ve got seven tabs open.
Why? And how did it all go to hell in a handbasket so quickly?
Tabs are open to my blog, to bitly, to Google Analytics, to an article on finding time in a busy day, and I’m now listening to an instructional mp3 about the web traffic patterns of caucasian males between the ages of 40-60 who have just a touch of silver in their hair, and like to eat all natural while taking nutritional supplements to boost their libido, and saw palmetto for their prostate glands. An additional tab is open to “How To Find Your Creativity In 7 Easy Steps.”
Creativity? I can’t even find out how all these tabs got opened. My dogs could do better at staying focused while working on the computer, and they’re both asleep. Plus, they have claws instead of fingertips, which would hinder their typing somewhat.
I call this phenomenon “getting lost in link land.” I start off with the best of intentions, but suddenly there’s a beguiling link on the healing properties of coconut oil, and I’ve just got to read it. So I click. This behavior sets off a sequence of neural firing that will eventually lead me to the gentleman with the silver tipped hair and the prostate problem.
And it doesn’t end there. A primal urge to buy then arises in me, swelling to a crescendo of such magnitude that I must buy, buy, buy, or I’ll lose what’s left of my mind.
So who cares that I don’t have a prostate gland?
My debit card is in my hand already and I’m keying in numbers like there’s no tomorrow. And while the card is conveniently out already, why don’t I buy that book for $9.95 that I just discovered from the seventh link I clicked on about the 80/20 principle now being the 90/10 principle? It costs over $30 in the store.
PLUS, I’ll get a free report worth $50 if I purchase quickly – it’s a limited time offer. I may never get this chance again, so I buy, even though I know that the strongest indicator of the 90/10 principle is that I’ll do 90% of my buying in a 10 minute time span somewhere between the hours of midnight and 7:00 a.m.
My husband has threatened to hide my debit card from me to curtail these late night binges, but the joke’s on him because he’s sleeping during my hours of madness, and I’d end up finding it.
The surge ends when daylight starts to filter through the blinds. Something about sunlight makes me very quickly (so I won’t click another link) close down the tabs and put the debit card away.
Next post: what happens when I try to clean out my email inbox. Let’s just say that I may get five pieces of email deleted for every new account I open because there’s free stuff to be had, and leave it at that.
Until next time, keep a smile on your face and when it comes to opening up tabs and clicking on links, two’s company, three’s just asking for trouble. If you don’t heed my advice, all I’ve got to say is “enjoy your coconut oil, and try not to smear the pages of your new book.”