Progress has always been confusing for us humans. We invented the wheel and then spent hundreds of years trying to figure out how to keep people from dying under it; we invented the telephone and the answering machine and e-mail, then complained that we couldn’t get a minute alone. Stone Age people probably got their thumbs caught under the strike of their newly invented tools and wondered whether evolving an opposable digit was such a good plan. It was, of course, a good plan, and most of us think that the invention of the car or the telephone or e-mail was a good plan, too. We’re intoxicated by new inventions, the things that have become interchangeable with our notion of "progress." But the hangover can be wicked.

In the case of the cell phone, one of our more recent inventions, the hangover is of the "Oh, God — I think I got naked and danced to Pat Benatar" variety. With the exception of those answering-machine messages where the person talks over an Inspirational Song or the rash of faux-wood-paneled cars we survived in the ’80s, few inventions have embarrassed us as much as the cell phone. Since its advent, we’ve begun gesturing wildly to no one in particular while walking down the street, reaching for our bags at every subway vibration or high-pitched note, clinging to that hunk of plastic as if it were made of gold.

For the years that I refused to get one, I maintained that cell phones were unnecessary, that I didn’t want to be reachable at all times, that I actually kind of liked pay phones. But really, ever since they stopped making phone booths with accordion doors and trying to cram hundreds of people into them — arguably a fun activity to begin with — there has been nothing fun about pay phones. Clearly, I just didn’t want to be humiliated by a hunk of plastic that isn’t, I’ve discovered, made of gold.

Eventually, though, I realized that someday, no matter how much I whined about how annoying it is to live in a ringing world, interrupted at the movies and dinner, I would give in to the mounting pressure and get a cell phone. The particular day of this realization seemed to be as good a day as any, and so I found myself at the nearest cell-phone dealer, one of those big, air-conditioned, seemingly product-less stores, doing the thing I said I’d never, ever do: I signed myself up. I walked out of the store vowing never to become one of those "bad" cell-phone people, the ones who talk loudly in the video store or drive like they’ve just slugged a couple shots of tequila. Then I started calling everyone I knew. A phone you carry around! Amazing!

Things got a little out of hand those first few weeks. Then I had a talk with myself about dependency and left the phone at home from time to time. But the worst was yet to come. I hadn’t expected the cell phone to have its own volition, to actually dial up my friends, family members, and acquaintances without my permission or involvement. And while I know the cell phone didn’t actually decide to call my Uncle Marty (while an unknowing friend and I covered an entire spectrum of decidedly un-avuncular topics), that in fact the cell phone had actually been pressured — literally — into dialing Uncle Marty by the jostling items in my bag, I suddenly understood how Dave must have felt in 2001: A Space Odyssey when the computer started taking over.

I’m told that this sort of cell-phone embarrassment can be avoided by putting the phone on "lock down" when you’re not using it. I don’t really want to own anything that needs to be put on "lock down," and anyway, the settings on my phone are so cryptic that I haven’t been able to figure out how such a goal would be achieved. Besides, every time I get close to trying, there’s that voice: I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Dave.

I’m not the only one with a phone that seems to have a brain of its own. Take my friend Daniel, for example. Almost weekly, his cell phone finds a way to call his cousin Richard, "which is funny," Daniel says, "since I don’t think I ever called him before, and given the choice, I probably wouldn’t call him at all." But apparently, his phone has family values. I mean, Jesus Christ. What have we gotten ourselves into?

Whatever it is, it’s apparently not messy or irritating enough to give the things up. I speak for myself when I say this. Because of my renegade cell phone, close relatives — at least the ones who listen very carefully as my phone bounces around in the bottom of my bag — now know more about my life than I ever in my worst nightmare imagined was possible. And still I let that thing roam free in my bag every day. Because the trouble is, cell phones — like the wheel, answering machines, e-mail — do nice things for us. They make life easier. And, as paradoxical as it may seem, given our self-punishing, sleepless, dieting society, we like easy. Even if it’s at the expense of our independence, our safety, or our privacy. Not something to be proud of, exactly. But until we figure out another plan, or our cell phones figure one out for us, I don’t see another way. Turn off our cell phones?

I wouldn’t do that if I were you ...

If Rebecca Wieder’s cell phone doesn’t call you first, she can be reached at rebezca@juno.com