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A wise girl once said, “There is nothing like a solitary weekend: Just you, a bottle of scotch, a lot of cheese, a good book and an indent in the couch (or sand).”

OK. So the girl was me (Hi!), but I stand by my advice. In fact, I have followed it so closely this weekend that the only thing I have spoken to is my dog. And he has started speaking back.

My plan to cut myself off from reality (relative term) began during the week. In the space of thirty minutes, I received eight phone calls, nine messages, a few BlackBerry texts and countless emails.

There is just no way to shut up my mother.

This list by no means alludes to my popularity (read above). Rather, it only stands as one example of how much of a slave to my phone I have become.

“This has to stop,” I thought.

There was only one solution: Turn The Fucking Thing Off.

On Wednesday I hit the switch (the rarely used “off” button) and sat at my computer in silence. In accordance with the aforementioned procedure, I closed Gmail and FaceBook as well, thus rendering myself completely uncontactable.

If Sall falls down when she doesn’t have a BlackBerry, does anybody hear it? 

My realization that my BlackBerry fills a Black Hole came in two parts. First, I was reading a Vanity Fair article about an up-and-coming designer who admitted that she “sleeps with [her] BlackBerry.”

“Pfft. Loser,” I thought. And then I turned off the lights, rolled over and started spooning mine.

“This has to stop,” I thought.

And then I noticed another thing, something even more serious than sleeping with an inanimate object (which some people apparently enjoy, and recommend, anyhow): Having my phone or email or FaceBook with me makes me more than a slave to the technology. It makes me a slave to the people who can contact me via those various devices.

See, contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually make calls, send messages or comment on peoples Status Updates unless I really have to (I may by lying about one of those points).

I’m much more from the school of:

Be there in ten minutes.

Can’t talk. Am driving. But yes am naked.

Or, Do you ever get the giggles so badly that a little pee comes out?

You know, important things.

Instead, I tend to wait for people to call me. Of course, there are a few exceptions (read above), but for the most part, I am waiting for other people to contact me. I am a slave to their phone obsession. In a way I hope that there are other people out there who love their BlackBerry’s, iPhone’s, SideKicks or Carrier Pigeon’s just as much as I do. Otherwise, I sit in imposed silence.

So, to stop this, I turned off my phone. I had no one to answer to other than me.

It is amazing what one gets done when they cut out every other person in their life:

I have newly painted nails (and some newly smudged nails).

I read two books in two days.

I turned black under the suns rays.

I drank an entire bottle of scotch in forty-eight hours without having to share.

I [almost] finished writing an essay.

I rediscovered (found?) my love (hate?) of that show called “Dhama & Greg”.

The secret things we do when no one is watching (like tuning in to horrible 90s sitcoms) is best done when there is no chance of getting caught or called.

Some people argue that this stuff (read above) is all a waste of time and that life is about human interaction. And for the most part, I agree. However, I am noticing that more and more people are forgetting about themselves as they try to recruit more and more people into their lives.

Taking a weekend to spend all of the hours by yourself is liberating and refreshing. However, when you get too excited and are sitting on your couch in underwear, mismatching socks and are about to put the fiftieth cupcake into your mouth, you have to think, “This has to stop.” 

Post By Salium.