A confession. I have an addiction. It consumes my day and interferes with my night.
Not for me the time consuming, not to mention health-depriving addiction of smoking: no that is common and ordinary. If one is to have an addiction one should at least cultivate something that is different. Or is any addiction different? All addictions envelope the person until their life is taken over.
I know of many who are addicted to work. They have my deepest pity. All day, some every day of the week and for more than the forty hours considered 'normal', these people let the work ethic rule their lives. Should one dare to ask why, they are met with blank stares of incomprehension. They declare they work to pay the bills, to have a better lifestyle, to pay for a long awaited holiday, while some even confess to liking the pain it inflicts upon their soul. One could go as far as to say they enjoy being a paragon.... not of virtue. In my opinion, be it ever so humble, these folks are afraid of the time they might have if they stopped working so hard. They have nothing to fill their lives apart from work.
Then there are the many millions addicted to smoking. Some, bless their little cotton socks, even sue cigarette companies for enticing them to not only purchase the nicotine impregnated weed but also for forcing the tissue wrapped article to their lips and coercing them to draw the life threatening fumes into their lungs. Every week I witness the pathetic picture of a woman riding a mobility scooter who, after parking her vehicle outside a shop door, will struggle to the counter, breathless and gasping for oxygen, and ask for 20 cigarettes of her favourite brand. In her twilight years her addiction holds her in its tentacles.
Witness also those others addicted to the bottle. They swagger around breathing alcoholic fumes which if captured should power a motorcar. That’s an idea worth considering! Gas for cars! And as recycling is all the rage, what better than recycled gas. Fumes from the alcoholic would substantially cut down on the amount of petroleum needed by the world. In fact, going just one step further down that road, the nations' drunks would have cheap fuel.... unlike the rest of us. The sad irony is that once the drinker partakes of too much of his or her favourite tipple their nature changes. Arguments get out of hand. Rash statements are made, and often punches are thrown. The headaches and the delicate state of their constitution can only be eradicated by swallowing more of the same.
Of course other addictions are equally consuming. All addictions are consuming ~ otherwise they cannot be properly called an addiction.
One hears, though personally I do not know one, of people who pursue some obscure line of enquiry. They read books about their subject, they write page after page in the hope of persuading others to be equally interested. They are very interesting people should you wish to listen to the long-winded discussions they feel compelled to launch into at the slightest provocation.
I do know genealogists. They are a dime a dozen in my family. Hour upon hour is spent scraping the dredges of my mind for aunt Alice's second cousin's husband's name. Does it matter? To the genealogist it is of utmost importance as it fills a gap on a page of the family tree. When, a few weeks later, another meeting with the family scribe occurs it is so disheartening to have to relate the same piece of information again. Why? Because the original piece of paper on which the initial information was written has been lost in the filing system. The filing system! A box of paper would be a better description. It would be true to say that many of us who are not genealogists have more information on their computer under the scalp about who is who within the family than the aforesaid genealogist. However as an addiction, genealogy is harmless.
But, back to the point. I have an addiction. It is ..... now wait for it ..... WORDS! Every waking hour my mind runs amok with words. Should I hear a new word I am instantly curious as to its origin. A trip to the dictionary is a trip to the movie theatre. I spy a word.
Instantly I have a mental picture running through the brain of that word and all its concepts. I make a movie from a word.
Once I never knew words. I was but a child then. I learned to read. I learned to write, and from that moment on my addiction has grown in magnitude. It is harmless. Hopefully it isn't life shortening, and under proper control it can be useful.... some of the time anyway!
Not for me the time consuming, not to mention health-depriving addiction of smoking: no that is common and ordinary. If one is to have an addiction one should at least cultivate something that is different. Or is any addiction different? All addictions envelope the person until their life is taken over.
I know of many who are addicted to work. They have my deepest pity. All day, some every day of the week and for more than the forty hours considered 'normal', these people let the work ethic rule their lives. Should one dare to ask why, they are met with blank stares of incomprehension. They declare they work to pay the bills, to have a better lifestyle, to pay for a long awaited holiday, while some even confess to liking the pain it inflicts upon their soul. One could go as far as to say they enjoy being a paragon.... not of virtue. In my opinion, be it ever so humble, these folks are afraid of the time they might have if they stopped working so hard. They have nothing to fill their lives apart from work.
Then there are the many millions addicted to smoking. Some, bless their little cotton socks, even sue cigarette companies for enticing them to not only purchase the nicotine impregnated weed but also for forcing the tissue wrapped article to their lips and coercing them to draw the life threatening fumes into their lungs. Every week I witness the pathetic picture of a woman riding a mobility scooter who, after parking her vehicle outside a shop door, will struggle to the counter, breathless and gasping for oxygen, and ask for 20 cigarettes of her favourite brand. In her twilight years her addiction holds her in its tentacles.
Witness also those others addicted to the bottle. They swagger around breathing alcoholic fumes which if captured should power a motorcar. That’s an idea worth considering! Gas for cars! And as recycling is all the rage, what better than recycled gas. Fumes from the alcoholic would substantially cut down on the amount of petroleum needed by the world. In fact, going just one step further down that road, the nations' drunks would have cheap fuel.... unlike the rest of us. The sad irony is that once the drinker partakes of too much of his or her favourite tipple their nature changes. Arguments get out of hand. Rash statements are made, and often punches are thrown. The headaches and the delicate state of their constitution can only be eradicated by swallowing more of the same.
Of course other addictions are equally consuming. All addictions are consuming ~ otherwise they cannot be properly called an addiction.
One hears, though personally I do not know one, of people who pursue some obscure line of enquiry. They read books about their subject, they write page after page in the hope of persuading others to be equally interested. They are very interesting people should you wish to listen to the long-winded discussions they feel compelled to launch into at the slightest provocation.
I do know genealogists. They are a dime a dozen in my family. Hour upon hour is spent scraping the dredges of my mind for aunt Alice's second cousin's husband's name. Does it matter? To the genealogist it is of utmost importance as it fills a gap on a page of the family tree. When, a few weeks later, another meeting with the family scribe occurs it is so disheartening to have to relate the same piece of information again. Why? Because the original piece of paper on which the initial information was written has been lost in the filing system. The filing system! A box of paper would be a better description. It would be true to say that many of us who are not genealogists have more information on their computer under the scalp about who is who within the family than the aforesaid genealogist. However as an addiction, genealogy is harmless.
But, back to the point. I have an addiction. It is ..... now wait for it ..... WORDS! Every waking hour my mind runs amok with words. Should I hear a new word I am instantly curious as to its origin. A trip to the dictionary is a trip to the movie theatre. I spy a word.
Instantly I have a mental picture running through the brain of that word and all its concepts. I make a movie from a word.
Once I never knew words. I was but a child then. I learned to read. I learned to write, and from that moment on my addiction has grown in magnitude. It is harmless. Hopefully it isn't life shortening, and under proper control it can be useful.... some of the time anyway!
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