The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

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Sometimes, just waking is surreal.

I fell awake this morning as like into a pool of freezing air, all broken surface tension and distended thoughts. They say hitting water at ten meters is like hitting concrete likewise, and that's almost what I felt like this morning; knocked conscious and barely remaining afloat.

Addiction is not a pretty thing. My eyes were bloodshot this morning, and my head swam with excuses. I think, primarily, I'm scared to go outside. My buddy on Saturday was just way too tired to live up to our plans of apartment shopping (he was going to show me some hip bachelor pads like his own, just like I mentioned in Kermix's journal). As a consequence, I couldn't come up with any excuse to leave the house this weekend. And yesterday, on my day off, I conveniently couldn't think of any of the chores that I had to do, so I stayed at home and played Nintendo until 4AM. Then I curled up in bed and didn't get to sleep till five for thrashing about and feeling sick. I think I may have unSeasonal Affective Disorder (unS.A.D.), because I was fine last week when the sun was shining. Today, it looked darker outside than in, in that sort of superdark dreams have that lets you know it's going to be a nightmare. The light is there, but it doesn't do anything; it doesn't permeate, it doesn't illuminate.

Alison says I've been distant lately. I haven't even worked up the whatever it is I work up to call Becca because I know I'll have nothing to say and she gets self-conscious when it's just her talking at length. I might have to call her tonight and have her read poetry to me so I can sleep. That's the best substitute I can think of for a warm body to actually allow me to sleep: girls reading poetry. Doesn't matter what it is, it comforts me. But I'm sure she also feels like I've been distant, withdrawn. Torpid, like a spider in the snow, all limbs intact and retracted.

I wonder if when they eulogize me, they'll hold me up there with the greats and their addictions. Up there with those authors fueled by vices like alcohol, hashish, and speed, will be me, with my addiction to Nintendo. Not likely in the state I'm in. I wouldn't say I've been "depressed" in awhile but I was today. I managed to pull some smiles out of somewhere, though. As I walked down the street in my coat with my uncle's briefcase, the opening riff to "Owner of a Lonely Heart" came to mind and I had to stop and look behind me. Great, now I'm a paranoid depressive. Thank God naming the thing cures it. Now can I have some pills? Laughing, though, and not down. But I'm not throwing any punches, not any real ones. Christ, I'm a living reference to a scene from Cool Hand Luke.

It's snowing, and it's April. No wonder I feel like hibernating. I should probably go back to sleep, where things make sense.

The addictions I suffer from are all of the same ilk. I don't know if any work has been done classifying addiction compensation mechanisms (that wasn't my field at Cornell), but I'd say I have a 'consumptive addiction'. My goal with any vice I suffer from is to outlast it; basically to expend it so that I can move on to being without it. I play video games exhaustively until they are beaten and can be shelved and forgotten. Likewise, if there is food in the house, I will eat it so that it is not in the house anymore. Out of sight, out of mind. Simple enough, right? It's the only thing that works (aside from conscious decision-making, oh lawdy) as I have, in the past, tried to throw the bags of chips my mother keeps buying for me out the window only to get yelled at quite severely. I love my mother, but she's not helping. When I lived with my grandmother, I never ate except for Rold Gold pretzel sticks and a salad or two a day (chinese food and pizza each once weekly, too). I lost 'bout 30 pounds, and kept it off. Of course, my commute on the NYC subway was much more athletic. Living at home is good for one thing, that's for certain: weight gain. I put on more weight and then some when I moved home. Fast, too. It's a damned shame. I'd still be out of shape if I lived on my own, as I'm terribly inactive by nature, but I wouldn't be snacking nonstop. I don't buy snacks much at all (and if I do, they tend to be at least vaguely healtyh, like PowerBars or Wheat Thins), but if they're there, I will eat them. At least while I was at school, I could chew gum during the day. Can't do that right now.

But that's me; consumptive addictions. I was thinking about it and now I've written about it and theoretically you've read about it. Do you feel better?

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