I realized I was addicted to texting when I grabbed lunch at Panera.  I traipsed over to the soda dispenser.  I don’t usually drink soda, so I couldn’t decide between Pepsi and Dr. Pepper.  Naturally, I sought the opinion of my best friend, Nichole.

How did I, a 26-year-old graduate student, who has lived on my own for several years, get to the point where I could not make a simple decision about a lunchtime beverage without sending a text to a friend I haven’t seen in over a year who lives two time zones and half a country away?

Oh no, I thought, I’m officially a statistic.  I can now be lumped with those socially inept teenagers who can’t carry on a coversation because of the cell phone glued to their palms.

I recently ran out for a short shopping trip and I forgot my phone.  I had to purchase a new suitcase with no texted input from Nichole, my mom, or my sister.  I could not send pictures of my options.  I had to make the decision all by myself.  I’ve made these decisions plenty of times before I had a cell phone.  In post-unlimited-texting world: it was lonely.

Carly Rose Jackson is a Blast blogger