The 7 Things I'm Not Addicted To

My friend Dea says she has an addictive personality and I smile slightly. Because she doesn’t. Only people with real addictive personalities know that wild, sick, consumptive burn that emanates from some fiery pit in your soul and wants to eat your charred skin for dinner.
Addictions are born from the balls of the devil. Addictions make you want to carve the word "Defile!" on your forehead with a rusty blade, while your mom is forced to watch, helplessly.

Addiction is not a word to bandy about. You either have one or you don’t. No grey area. And there are no cute addictions. You’re not addicted to your puppy or your sweet spouse of 25 years or the great outdoors.

Dea says that’s not true! She's hooked on coffee. I giggle and she is annoyed. Hooked on coffee…how quaint. Try being high on a pile of coke, smoking your 50th cigarette at 4 am, drinking straight vodka with a twist of lemon (for Vitamin C, of course) and wanting to fuck an inanimate object just because you can.

Hooked on coffee…silly girl. So with my addictive personality, I decided to focus on the positive. What am I not addicted to?

Gambling: Nope. Nothing there. A real flat line. Don’t get it. Don’t get how people would be hooked on gambling. I understand it conceptually…just don’t have that streak. Yay for me!

Ice Cream: I hear stories where people in profound emotional distress resort to Ben and Jerry’s as a way to escape. That’s a cute one too. That’s a cute little addiction for babies and puppies. I don’t care about ice cream. I care about escaping my constantly chattering brain voices with non-dairy items like horse tranquilizers.

Heroin: Shew! Thank goodness I missed that gravy train, huh? As a matter of fact, I think it’s the only drug I haven’t tried. I’ve tried GHB, ketamine, peyote, mushrooms, acid and some “boutique” marijuana called Purple Kush. But no junk in my trunk. Yay for me!

Work: Nope, not a problem. No workaholism coursing through these veins. I work for a bit until my 21-year-old friend comes over and says, “Hey, wannna smoke out and go surfing?” Next thing I know, a whole day went by and I’ve completed an hour’s worth of work but a day’s worth of solid surfing. Yay for me!

Phonics: I’m not hooked on phonics. I like phonics. But I’m not hooked on phonics. Actually, I don’t even know what phonics be. Yay!

Religion: Not hooked on God. I try to parlay my ragingly addictive personality into something positively spiritual but alas, God is dead and I stand alone, sipping my wine, staring off into the sunset wondering if I could bum a cigarette from the guy in the car who's looking at the sunset too.

Love: Might as well face it, I’m not addicted to love. I love love but I’m not hooked on love. I prefer rampant codendency, unavailable men and a constant longing that makes your insides rotate and twist on a daily basis. I choose basking in the glory of abandonment issues that keep you constantly wanting something you’ll never have. Love, shmove! Gimme some of that good ol’ fashioned emotional unavailability anyday! Yay for lovelessness!

But seriously folks, I’ve come a long way, baby. My addictions have died down as the years have passed. They softened and settled. I play with my addictive personality now like an old, trouble-making friend. I’ve even named her. My addictive personality is named Sally. Sally Feed the Hole (sort of has a Native American feel, no?)

Sally, say good night to the people:

“Night, night.”

See? She’s not so bad. She just wants a little attention every once in a while.