I'm an addict, I know it and I know that it's a problem. When I have it I'm euphoric. I can't stop thinking about it, I put off thing such as working out, cooking, shopping, cleaning...normal life gets put on hold when I have one. And when it's done I get depressed, looking for my next high, the next best thing. It takes me away from this world that I live in. It invades my every thought...I can't function with it, yet I can't imagine life without it. Trainer enables my addiction. He supplied me with my latest hit at Christmas. He knows how wrapped up I can get while in the midst, yet he still finds me the best stuff. Gives it to me freely, knowing that real life will cease while I have it.
I'm addicted to books, and I know that I'm not alone. I find comfort in that. My addiction started when I was 8 years old. That was when I read my first novel, well...I thought is was a novel, it was over 400 pages. I started reading it because someone close to my family promised me a calligraphy pen if I finished. I read my next book because I realized at that young age that I could be someone else for a little while. I fell in love with the written word, and my love became something else.
This latest 'high' is amazing. I find myself thinking about it all the time. Trainer bought me the first two books of the Twilight series for X-mas. All day Thursday I looked at the book spines, I would pick it up, flip through the pages and inhale that paper and ink smell. I love the feel of a new book, one that has been untouched, a virgin book, my virgin book. I resisted all the way until 9pm. I thought I would just read a little to help me get to sleep, that works for most people, not for me, not when it's good. The next time I looked at the clock it was a little past midnight and I was through with a third of the book. I could have stayed up until I finished, but I chose sleep. I finished it on Friday.
I told myself that I wasn't going to start book 2 until I joined the gym. That was going to be my incentive. But like every other addict those are empty promises. I resisted all day, tried to make myself busy around the house. The need struck me again at bed time, 9:30 this time. Just a chapter, just one, then I'll put it down. I'll go to the gym tomorrow. I looked at the clock and it was 12:30am. Dammit, I did it again. I woke up Saturday and rolled over, grabbed the book, thirsty for just a couple more chapters. Eventually I had to get up and feed the pups. I also had to get ready for my personal training session with Trainer. I was forced out of the house, but I took my book with me. Addictions, they invade your every thought...'what's going to happen now...who will die....will he ever come back...'
Not every book is the same. You have your filler books that you can pick up and put down. And then you have the premium stuff, the stuff that just takes you away, far away, it captures your soul...just for a while, and it stays with you, sometimes changing who you are.
I haven't picked up the book today. I told myself I had to write first. So here I am. Jonesing. Waiting until I can run my hand down that spine and open it to where I left off. Waiting to escape into a different world.