I'm clickin'lly insane. That's my unprofessional opinion that I've not had diagnosis by the medical world...yet. I'm beating myself up over all the time I've cheated myself out of being on-line lately. My illness began benignly with a screenwriting group a few years ago. I joined, gathered information, and made a few contacts. Later, a few of those contacts and I would create another group aptly named Procrastination. We became great friends. It was 'like vibration' merging with 'same'. We still hook up in L.A. every now and again. However, one of my vices kicked in: Boredom. I could feel myself needing to expand. I decided to take my photography more seriously than I had before and joined a very popular photo-sharing site. There I made many fun contacts. Again, out of those came a couple of, what seems to be, lasting friendships. Then my child wanted to join the notorious hook-up space on the web. I had been opposed to this for some time. Finally, I told them I'd join but they'd have to be my friend. They dealt with it well. I'm such a good mother. Anyway, while on there I rediscovered my love of music. Not just others' music but my love of making music. I've had only a voice to work with and years lay between my last collaboration. Now, I'm strummin' a guitar a little more coherently. Expanding, again. Thanks to my muse's space, I met more wonderful friends and was drawn full-circle back into the writing that I had abandoned for landscapes and portraiture. Managing to continue my photography, I am actually calling myself a professional. For some reason, people give you money when you do that. So, here I am. I'm writing well (in my mind), I have a musical collaborator (who's good), I'm taking on photography gigs (love that) BUT I'm spending too much time on-line socializing. Seriously, I've practically written a book in comments on Facebook where, btw, more than 95% of my "friends" have actually manifested physically somewhere in my time-line! Even so, I don't open the chat window much anymore. I'm worried that would be falling into the abyss. And I don't like to worry. And I certainly don't like falling. My real-life friend, who is not a licensed anything, lovingly diagnosed me as an Escape Artist.$%&#, I think she's right. Well, I'm off to re-hab...