I was a little irritated with myself the other day that I investigated the death of Austin Majors, a young actor, who died last week. Even though I had never heard of the man, I clicked on the link because I noticed he died at 28. I was curious to know how he died. It was all morbid curiosity and, of course, I was richly rewarded. Youthful success, drug abuse and dying young. What more can you ask for when trying to satisfy your morbid curiosity?

The problem I am having is that it is all pointless. I have so many hours in a day and I spent a few minutes looking into the death of an actor I never heard of. It is junk food reading. It made me sad. I didn’t learn anything new about drug abuse or homelessness. The only thing I got out of it was a mild satisfaction that I dodged that particular bullet in my youth. The best that can be said about it was that it was a minor distraction from my life.

I am not saying that I should never have distractions but this one was pretty meaningless. I suspected from the moment I decided to read his story that it would be a sad one. Death at 28 is rarely a happy story. And I was right, so what did that get me.

I can’t tell you how much time I’ve spent reading about people I don’t know and I don’t care about. Clicking one link after another learning about people who knew other people who knew other people. Hours could go by before I realize it. Getting lost in my diversions was a way to avoid working on what I claimed mattered to me — my writing.

In the past, I blamed working for my failure to write. I needed diversion from my boring, yet stress filled, life. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to relax, do nothing. Everything would be written and published if only I didn’t have to work.

Well, it turns out that diversions are still a problem for me even though I don’t work anymore. One of the best things about getting older is I now see my little tricks a bit clearer. I can’t blame work anymore so I now must work on my morbid curiosity.

Damn it.