As college students, we are experts at procrastination. It’s an art form, really. Even as you read this sentence, you will inevitably stop to send a few texts and maybe even make a couple phone calls. God forbid you have a BlackBerry. When it comes to using “BlackBerry Messenger” (BBMing, for those not in the know), the ability to distract oneself (and in the process ignore the people actually talking to you in person) can reach new heights.

But I don’t mind. In this case, your texting is probably more indicative of the low quality of my writing than it is of your tendency to procrastinate.

The true test of a real dawdler comes when he or she sits down in front of a computer to do anything school related—whether that be completing a problem set, reading a book, writing an essay or, in some instances, pontificating for The Sun. No matter how interesting or pressing the subject at hand may be, something on the Internet is more interesting or pressing and needs to be checked … RIGHT NOW.

For the worldly, this means compulsive reloading of CNN headlines or the Drudge Report. For those inclined to Britney and Paris, it’s all about Perez Hilton. I have even met people who were proud to say that they put two hours into checking their fantasy baseball teams every day. And, needless to say, we all check Facebook. The scary thing is that there are so many more ways to waste time on the Internet (YouTube, Googling your name, Wikipedia). Curse you, Al Gore, for inventing such a sinister device!

However, there is one thing that you can do on the Internet that is peerless in its ability to be an absolute time dumpster. Recently, I attended my first A.A. meeting — but left greatly dismayed after discovering that the first A stood for “Alcoholics” and not “AOL Instant Messenger.” The government office for science education defines drug addiction as, “The continued compulsive use of drugs in spite of adverse health or social consequences.” Like gambling, AIM is an addiction, affecting thousands of Cornellians and millions of Americans today.

Sigh. You’ve all heard the sad stories about lives being torn asunder by AIM, but no one wants to admit that they have a problem. Well, I’ll start: My name is Greg and I am addicted to AIM. My path to ruin is probably similar to what many of you have experienced. People first become users sometime in middle school. It was cool and everyone was doing it. Besides, what harm could using once or twice bring? We had heard all the stories but didn’t listen. You never think it’s going to happen to you.

Then high school hits. It’s also a critical period and probably when students are most susceptible to AIM usage. After all, it’s the perfect way to gossip. How else will you find out that Billy hooked up with Kate or that Amelia didn’t get invited to Sue’s Super Sweet 16? This is also when the compulsive behaviors start. You don’t just go online because you want to but because you have to. You start checking away messages obsessively — even the away messages of people you don’t talk to anymore!

A lot of people kick the habit when they get to college. Yet, anecdotal evidence from writing this week’s column downstairs in Olin reveals that a great deal do not. I am pretty sure the girl with the SDT bag sitting to my right and the dude with the funky hair to my left have spent more time on AIM than doing … well, anything that you should go to a library for. Definite junkies. Often, when students say they spent three hours in the library, they didn’t really spend three hours in the library. Though physically in there, they are not actually doing work. They are pretending by using AIM or procrastinating through some other means.

Here is where the deleterious effects of AIM emerge. Rather than focusing on the task at hand and accomplishing it in a very short of time, people spend literally hours on AIM. It comes to a head when you are writing an essay and do the following dance: IM routine, write a sentence in your essay, IM routine and repeat. You will end up writing more words in your IM boxes than you do in your paper! Beyond being a distracter that probably detracts from the quality of your work, the greatest irony of AIM use is that it is supposed to be a social facilitator. Yet, because you use it so much and because it can make schoolwork take that much longer, it actually decreases your opportunity for physical activity and rewarding social encounters.

Last week, the Internet cut out at my house. Ordinarily, since I can’t live without Mr. Gore’s invention (or at least the e-mail component), I would have scurried off to the library. On a whim, I decided to let my e-mail go unchecked for a couple of days and do my work from home. I could not believe it. Studying took me about two hours less than it would have usually. Sure, I procrastinated, but at least I did so in the company of my friends rather than in front of a computer screen.

I am now on Day Nine of “AIM sobriety.” Aside from the shakes, the withdrawal symptoms have been manageable. I know that a lot of programs advocate total abstinence as the only solution to an addiction but I am trying moderation — twenty minutes a day. Am I in danger of a relapse? Probably, but I will take my chances.

So, what’s to be done about Internet Compulsive Disorder? (ICD. It’s catchy and I am coining it now.) Plenty of people know they are addicted and that they have a problem but just cannot stop. I am dead serious. This applies not only to AIM but to the other compulsive behaviors listed above (reloading the Drudge Report or your Facebook page every few seconds, even when you know nothing has changed). For some, this can probably be completely debilitative. This week’s column does not even consider online games like “World of Warcraft” and “Second Life,” which can literally consume people as they dissociate from reality. Indeed, rehab clinics for online gaming have already opened in Amsterdam and in the United States. Do not be surprised if treatments for other, smaller internet compulsions become available in the near future to help you kick the addiction.

Gregory Wolfe is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. He can be contacted at gwolfe@cornellsun.com. It Matters Not, But... usually appears alternate Tuesdays this semester.