BitterSweetLife

And Other Blue Collar Addictions

No doubt you all saw this coming. After all, second to hoops, coffee is the favorite amenity of this blog. Shoot, even the title has subtle java undertones. Which goes to say, I realize this will come as no surprise, but...well... This is surprisingly painful. In fact, maybe I should just—no, that wouldn't be honest. Sigh. Ok, two words.

Coffee addiction.

I can hear the snickers now. Coffee? Please! The three-times-daily prayer to Mecc-I mean-Black & Decker? That's mere subsistence.

Exactly. I've always thought the best indication of addiction must be that ironically revealing phrase, "I'm not addicted!" Replete with wounded dignity, you know. I've tried that one. And while coffee is a fairly mild case, addiction in all its forms must be stymied.

Last week, after I nicked my finger and started bleeding mocha-brown, I realized the coffee levels in my bloodstream were excessively high. Briefly, denial set in. I feel fine. Then I did what I had to.

For me, the sudden death method seemed the way to go. And so it was. I halted my java intake cold, those multiple cups a' joe becoming multiple cups a' H20. The bouquet wasn't the same, but three days out and several low-decibel headaches later, I was free. Wonderful thing about freedom.

"Wonderful thing" being the freedom to indulge—in good things, of course, like coffee. The good days, the days of cream and brown have returned—just not to my bloodstream. Joe is back, but not like clockwork.

What I've realized is that addiction stalks us constantly, sometimes shocking in its very triviality. And trivial or not, addiction has a reductionist bottom line. It makes us less than we are—sometimes by making us feel like more than we are. We're left losers nonetheless.

Painkillers. Diet Pepsi.™ Computer games. Even college hoops news. Some of addiction's more insidious forms are good things whose use has come to outweigh their intended purpose. We could say that anything that ceases being used by us, and becomes an unquestioned fixture, begins to work to our reduction. If I can take a fine thing—exercise, books, music—and exploit it freely to my own ends, good and well. But if the equation is up-ended, then an accessory morphs into a crutch, and I'm dependent. I've taught myself to use something I don't really need as if I do.

Snapshots:
A rockstar who wears sunglasses 24-7. The student who's speechless without her peer group. The guy who "can't miss" SportsCenter.™ And we all realize these are the innocuous cases...which is exactly my point.

A word on the "accessories" in life: Keep 'em on a short leash. Our pet enjoyments, those sacred cows, must be slaughtered if they ever leave their stalls.