Not so early morning

I am supposed to be writing, and indeed I am doing just that. In misplaced purpose, but I think it is some sort of a progress. I open my little black box, now silver - centrino technology incorporated, and I become mesmerised by the mere idea of being online. I don't surf and I don't search, not usually. As far as Internet goes, and yes I know it goes a long way, I am a creature of habbit. It is not that I need to be online to survive, but it feels like that. Most of the time I cannot find a reason for me being like that. I certainly like the possibility. I am suspended between the zeros and the ones, there is a lot of potential, yet I succeed at little. Maybe I'll try to be more clear next time. Now I am busy being online.