The other night I was planning on going for a bike ride, but as soon as I got home the sky turned ominous, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled in the distance. By the time I got inside, it was beginning to rain, and so I turned on my laptop and checked my e-mail.

Checking my e-mail is something I love to do.

I always imagine that there’s going to be something really exciting in there, and sometimes there is — a missive from a long-lost friend, an invitation to a fun event, an entertaining joke or story. But more often than not, my e-mail is full of junk — concert promotions, offers from Barnes and Noble and Amazon.com or, worse yet, nothing at all. This was one of those times. Since I’d last checked my e-mail, maybe an hour-and-a-half earlier, nobody had e-mailed me. Not even spammers.

But instead of shutting down my computer, I continued surfing the Web. I checked various newspapers, and sports blogs and movie review sites. I looked at Facebook. I deleted old e-mail from my inbox. I checked the newspapers again. And again. Just when my eyes were starting to glaze over, I dug deep, summoned my willpower, and finally shut off the computer.

But what to do? The rain hadn’t lifted, and it was still a little early for dinner. I glanced at my couch, and noticed that the book I happened to be reading, “The Inheritance of Loss” by Kiran Desai, was buried in the cushions. “Well, there’s an option,” I thought. “I could read.” The more I thought about this option, the better it sounded. I opened the book — it had been at least a week since I’d looked at it — settled onto my couch, and started reading.

I love to read. It’s one of those things I complain about not having enough time to do. But it’s also something I do in spurts, and I’m much more likely to find more time to read when I’m fully absorbed in a book. The problem is, the only way to become fully absorbed in a book is to read it even when you’re not. Which takes time, and time is scarce. But maybe not as scarce as I think. I suspect that if I were to add up all of the time I spend on the Internet, I’d discover I actually have plenty of time for reading. Even when I’m not fully absorbed.

I first used the Internet during my freshman year of college, and I’ve been addicted to it ever since. Some people speak of a desire to cut down on the amount of time they spend online. Not me. I don’t mind using the Internet when I’m on vacation, or on the weekend, or on holidays. The Internet keeps me connected with friends and family and serves as a constant source of useful information. It allows me to rent whatever movies I want, buy stuff without setting foot in a mall and follow sports events even when they’re not on TV. In the past week, I’ve reconnected with a friend from second grade, downloaded 65 Michael Jackson songs and researched fares to Denver. Why would I want to disconnect myself from something that makes it possible for me to do all of these things?

At least, that’s how I used to think.

But lately I’ve noticed a downside to the Internet.

I’ve noticed that I spend too much time on it — time that could be better spent doing other things. I’ve noticed that when I’m too tired to do anything meaningful, I get online, when what I should really do is just go to bed. And I’ve noticed that when I’m busy doing other things — things I enjoy — I often have the urge to check my e-mail and favorite Web sites, which detracts from my ability to enjoy the moment at hand.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit all of this.

But I’ve learned that other people feel this way.

Last week, columnist David Sirota wrote of his plan to vacation off the grid, in rural China, without access to cell phone, computer or voice mail. “The prospect of going technologically cold turkey was daunting for me, one of millions of information junkies now hooked on connectivity,” Sirota wrote. “I vaguely recall a life without cellphones and computers (well, other than Nintendo), but my addiction has clouded that memory in sepia tones, making it seem a century ago. And so as I prepared for my current plunge into information deprivation, I felt like I was readying for a journey in a time-traveling DeLorean.”

Sirota went on to say that the Internet and technology revolutions have “been rightfully celebrated for improving everything from education to medicine to commerce,” but also wondered about the consequences. “It becomes difficult to conduct face-to-face interpersonal relationships while Twittering, hard to find inner calm with a perpetually buzzing cellphone, and nearly impossible to be productive at a job when bombarded by e-mails all day,” he wrote.

It’s a uniquely contemporary malady — too much information, too much connectivity, all of the time.
As for me, I’ve resolved that whenever I find myself mindlessly surfing the Web, I’m going to read a book or a magazine, instead.

Because those hours I spent reading “The Inheritance of Loss” were really lovely, and I’m looking forward to doing it again sometime soon.

Foss Forward makes a weekly appearance in print, in The Gazette’s Saturday Lifestyles section.