It's 5:00 in the morning and I've been up since three. I think 3:00 AM is the darkest hour, the dark of night coupled with a darkness of spirit. The world is quiet and it seems you're the only one awake in it. (Which was scary as hell when I was a little girl of six or seven - suffering insomnia even then.)
Most of my addictions are benign, thankfully - work, computer, work, television, work, books, work. (Being a workaholic does have benefits - you get a lot done and you make your boss happy.)
I first realized my addictive nature during a lengthy and stressful period of unemployment. I spent 22 months on the dole during three years in the early '90's. (Fired twice by the same guy. To follow through on the adage - shame on me.)
To get away from the knot of fear in my stomach, I read books. I didn't just read them, I consumed them in giant gulps. (I read Jane Eyre one day and Wuthering Heights the next and wondered why I got eyestrain.) I'd finish one book and, as I closed it, would panic if there wasn't another to immediately pick up.
I much preferred being in 1800's England to 1990's Kansas City. The librarian got to know me by name.
Once I got a job, the desperation to read abated. I once again had my favorite addiction - work! There was always plenty to do - and it was so much better to skate on the surface than to drop into reality.
I find myself skating on the surface again, spending hours playing stupid computer games, watching mindless television, and smoking too much.
And THAT is my non-benign addiction. The one I really know is bad for me, but I do it anyway.
Dammit.
