I fell off the wagon, a few nights ago.

For months, years, my entire computer-gaming indulgence consisted of some laptop solitaire (which, no, is not to be confused with onanism), and solitaire isn’t exactly habit-forming. Generally.

Then the devil snuck into my brain and whispered, “Minesweeper!”

Who else could it have been, except for Satan? I hadn’t thought of Minesweeper in years. Hadn’t played since the 1990s.

But before I could identify the evil presence … I was scanning the menu of games on the laptop … and there it was. Minesweeper! My old friend! Well, friend in the sense that meth is a pal to a cleaned-up tweaker.

Three hours later, with my forearms going numb, my wrists aching and my nervous system over-agitated … I finally quit. At 4:30 in the morning. It was walk away or throw the laptop onto the street out of frustration.

But I’ve been back. An hour yesterday, two hours this morning. Chasing the dragon. I need an intervention. Or a power failure, maybe.

I know lots of sports fans play video games. Like, nonstop. Madden football, various and sundry baseball games, soccer games. Increasingly realistic and deeply addictive.

I finally realized the power of video games more than a decade ago. It may have been when I played Super Mario Brothers so often that my thumbs were bleeding — and I could go through all nine levels (or whatever it is) in a half-hour. I knew the arcane geography Mario and Luigi had to negotiate at least as well as Interstate 10.

I didn’t limit my gaming to The Brothers. I spent prodigious amounts of time playing a primitive soccer game — at which I became so adept I could take the USA team and beat Brazil 10-0. There was the World War II Pacific Theater game in which I tore up Japanese targets.

The thing is … I spent unconscionable amounts of time on these games. Hours at a pop. And when I didn’t win or performed at some level below that I expected, it actually ticked me off. Made me angry.

Eventually, I quit. Went cold-turkey. And I’ve subsequently sat out the video boom, snorting in derision at the kids who line up at midnight to get some new version of a playing system or an updated game.

Suckers. Weaklings. Losers.

Then I heard “Minesweeper” in my head …

I started with the “medium” difficulty game. Within a half-hour I was winning. I went to the small game … and beat it in 60 seconds.

Then came a fateful moment. Instead of walking away and taking a shot at a decent night’s sleep … I clicked on the “difficult” version of the game — with the enormous grid and 99 (!) mines out there to blow up on me.

And 60-some failures later, during which I could feel my pulse rate go up … was slapping myself on the head whenever I failed … and even after I knew my sheer exhaustion was making me unlikely ever to win … I finally quit. Yes, at 4:30 a.m. I slept badly. Four maybe four hours. Then was back at it in the morning.

My excuse? I wanted to win the “advanced” game level at least once. Just once. That’s it. One time. Then I would be through.

This is why I quit playing video games. This is why I think they are a bad thing for anyone anytime, unless maybe they are house-bound by injury or illness.

Because they are a massive waste of time. Leading nowhere. Improving you not at all.

Read a book. Take a nap. Watch TV. Those activities might actually make you a better person. Video games do not. Will not.

I can say this … even as I feel an urge to find Minesweeper on the desktop computer I’m sitting at, and firing it up … and spending the rest of the afternoon wasting my life.

My name is Paul. And I’m an addict.