Insane in the Membrane

The difference between me and a junkie is that my time-wasting is mediocre. I don't resort to oblivion to burn down the time between me and death, I just sit here on my computer playing card games for hours at a time, watching my soul's tenuous connection with this earthly dimension gradually expire.

I'm occupying my ravenous mind with meaningless dramas. It has a similar function to many other human activities, except I'm conscious of its utter futility. Sometimes, to entertain my mind, I create rules, weave superstitions into the game. I must win so many hands. I have to get to this score or...

And even though my opponents in the game are just pre-programmed into the software, I give them personalities, imbuing them with emotions and motives that can't possibly exist. I become obsessed with beating them, start to shout abuse if things don't go my way, punch the air when I best them, get embroiled in feuds that go on, way past the original game, spilling over into further games, that become sagas, mini-epics of confrontation. It's usually North or West in Hearts, but sometimes East. I just have to beat them. Sometimes I can't. I may be sanguine in defeat, or throw my toys out of the pram. Oh look, two hours just passed, zip, just like that. Two more hours killed. Two more hours where I didn't think creatively, didn't breathe consciously, didn't resolve anything or pay bills or go for a walk or sing or dance. Two hours where I just sat in front of my screen and lost myself in a meaningless battle with a computer program.

Einstein said insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results. I'm insane. We're all insane. Insane in the membrane.