Haven’t posted here in ages, wonder if anyone besides the future son-in-law will give a crap. Need to figure out how to post to both this and FB, and make my own damn site. So today is 1/2/12, wonder why no one’s making a big deal out of it. Just as significant as any other date, and looks cooler. I made a personal vow to write at least 500 words a day, and since no one reads this anyway, figured I’d just write here, at least it’s proof I did something worthwhile with part of my day that didn’t involve household tasks or playing video games. I’m hoping to rewire my brain into needing to dothis. WHy do I need to do that? Real Simple:
I’m an addict. I have an addictive personality. I know this, I’ve known it for decades. Now, before you all start quoting the twelve steps to me, do me a favor. Write down the twelve steps, roll them up tight, cover them in lube, and shove them up your ass. They’re useless, absolutely useless, and one of the worst things to ever happen to Western Civilization,next to Don Hewitt,the man who destroyed news reporting.
Now my addiction has never been to drugs, though I did OD once. Can’t really call myself a drug addict though, because being dead once was enough to stop me. Nope, through my life, there has been one addiction, and one addiction alone that’s stood head and shoulders above the rest. Most people would look at me and assume its food, just because I look like a shaved bear most days. Nope it’s this:
Being alone and reading.
I’m addicted to it. I can’t help it. If in my last hours, if I have no family left alive, don’t pray over me. Just put me in an easy chair, pile the latest issues of AP and Decibel next to the chair, hand me a Nick Polotta book, then put in the needle. Chances are I’d die smiling.
I know exactly how I came to be addicted to this. That was the time there was any peace in my house growing up. Other kids can talk about family gathered around the TV at night, or playing games. If you think I know what that’s like, its only because my wife’s shown me how that can be fun the last few years.
You think an addiction like this wouldn’t be so bad, but you’d be wrong. I suffered immensely in social situations for years. It took years of friends and teachers to teach me how to talk to people. And I’m good at it, don’t get me wrong. But sometimes I’ll talk to people way too long, like I’m overcompensating. Perhaps I am. But my happiest childhood memories don’t involve people, they involve being under my bed(it had a raised chest on the side, and I could slip down behind it and make a fort). It was my inner sanctum the first decade or so of my life. There are days when I’m still that kid, alone, listening to his parents scream at each other, waiting for the silence.