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by Meredith Hale, The Washington Post,
9 March 2015
I had become an addict.
No, I wasn’t desperate for coffee, or counting the minutes until bedtime so I could pour myself a glass of Merlot. I was addicted to my iPhone.
It started innocently enough. I would check e-mail throughout the day, mostly for work. Soon I found myself checking Facebook first thing in the morning, and sneaking peeks at my blog before going to bed. Eventually I reached the point where I’d even check my weather app for a fix. It became common for me to hollowly promise my kids “just one more minute” while sitting in the grocery store parking lot, the kids strapped impatiently in their car seats, while I desperately scrolled past LinkedIn invitations and kitchenware sales, looking for something I couldn’t define.
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I had become an addict.
No, I wasn’t desperate for coffee, or counting the minutes until bedtime so I could pour myself a glass of Merlot. I was addicted to my iPhone.
It started innocently enough. I would check e-mail throughout the day, mostly for work. Soon I found myself checking Facebook first thing in the morning, and sneaking peeks at my blog before going to bed. Eventually I reached the point where I’d even check my weather app for a fix. It became common for me to hollowly promise my kids “just one more minute” while sitting in the grocery store parking lot, the kids strapped impatiently in their car seats, while I desperately scrolled past LinkedIn invitations and kitchenware sales, looking for something I couldn’t define.