Favorite Addictions

When people mention the word addiction, they generally sound off about it with some measure of dislike for the thing, as if an addiction--and those who have them--can be nothing short of disreputable and worthy of despising. Now, I must concur that, in many cases, such an approach to addictions is probably well-founded to say the least. Addictions to pornography, drugs, alcohol, tobacco, or other harmful substances at their very best often lead to minor misbehavior and better test scores and productivity and at their worst to violence and harm to those who use and abuse them, as well as those interacting with the users. It is due to the use and overuse of such substances and their influences on behavior that the word addiction seems to have gained an increasingly poor connotation in our world. After all, when we discuss addictions of various sorts, we almost never speak of the harmless addictions (disguised as social norms), like wearing underwear or cleaning the bathroom on a very regular basis, or of the very good addictions, like taking meals to families in the neighborhood or mowing your parents' lawn in 100+ degree weather without complaining. But no, it never occurs to us to speak of these addictions because we feel the need to associate addiction with harmful actions.

(Note: I have it on good authority [my own] that some among my readers may protest by my including such as things as underwear-wearing and lawn-mowing to a list of addictions, but I am certainly well within my rights to regard such things as addictions, just as you are all in your rights to say I am not within my rights. Now, if you will consult with Merriam-Webster, the denotation [not the connotation mind you, which matters to me not in the slightest] of the word addiction gives me free rein to refer to anything which is done obsessively and habitually as an addiction. Since it is most certainly a habit of mine to don underwear [as I am certain it is for many others] and a task which I perform habitually, I must say that I am most certainly an underwear-wearing addict. If you wish to press the matter further by speaking of pleasure receptors and so on, well, I am afraid I cannot stop you from speaking your mind. However, if you have ever tried to walk around without underwear for a while, you may have felt odd about the whole thing and immediately decided to put some on. That discomfort is a very good indication of your addiction, my friend, a very good indication.).

Now that we have settled (well, perhaps not completely) the matter of what an addiction can and cannot be, I would like to mention a few of the things I have been and continue to be addicted to. I am constantly acquiring new addictions it seems, but they are generally of the harmless or good kind, I believe.

For example, I have an on-again-off-again addiction for eBay. Yes, I like to walk up and down the digital bookshelves of eBay, daring to look but generally not to touch many good and wholesome items. Sometimes however, my willpower dissolves and I become transfixed to the point that I start buying things, things I could do without but which I cannot help but purchase. However, after I have acquired a few things which I will treaure for a very long time no doubt, I come to my senses and pull myself out before I lose my entire will to it. Despite the fact that I am never really free of this addiction, and I feel its pull from time to time, it is, I think, a harmless and even good addiction at times, if if I do not let it get out of hand.

Further, I am also addicted to cooking. Some people would disagree that this is an addiction, using such words as hobby, pastime, leisure activity, or even passion to describe my affinity for the culinary arts. Well, once again that is their opinion. Not a bad opinion, or even a disagreeable one, but it is an opinion, and I shall leave it at that. When I am in the kitchen, I become frightfully possessive of the space around me and whatever happens to be in the oven or on the stove. If people come in and attempt to snoop or extract secrets from me, I shoo them out or send them packing with poisonous looks, envenomed by non-verbal curse words. They soon get the hint and flee before my basilisk stares. Yes, my friends, I am afraid I can be more than a bit obsessive when I am cooking, especially when something doesn't come out right (I feel very blue about that for hours and hours) or something does come out right after many hours of strenuous labor over a hot range and someone at the table feels the need to complain that it is not to his or her liking (Note: No one is making you eat it, so don't, but keep your comments to yourself, rude thing).

My latest and greatest addiction, though, is for the Harry Potter series. I have withstood constant teasing and good-natured ribbing over the years because I have resisted many recommendations that I read the Harry Potter books. I hate most trends and bandwagons equally, and therefore I have shunned Harry Potter as though I were King Laius and he were my son Oedipus left to perish on a Theban hillside with his ankles tied together. And he could have perished too for all have cared these many years of resisting peer pressure.

Finally, the day arrived when I decided for myself (this day happened a couple of weeks ago) that it was time to see what they were all about. By now, the hullaboo about the books has died down somewhat, leaving me free of the wheels of the passing bandwagons with the bandied shouts and meaningless racket of their occupants. My sister brought one home from the library, and I read it in about three hours. Then, I went to the library the next week and checked out 2, 3, and 4. I read them all in two days' time. This week, I returned again to the library and checked out 5, 6, and 7. Two more days, and I finished those as well. For those of you who care (and for those of you don't) I am currently writing this post at 4:21 a.m and as sleep-deprived (if not more so) than a college students during finals week, mostly because of the recent sickness which has invaded our house but also because I could not put those books down. I finished The Half-Blood Prince at 9:00 and immediately started in to read The Deathly Hallows. I simply had to know how it all ended. I was mad with curiosity, and stayed up until 50 minutes ago finishing the series. While I realize that I have cost myself a good deal of repose in the process, the truth is I never would have been able to sleep after Snape killed Dumbledore anyway. No, indeed, I was better off surrendeding myself to the obsession by staying up and finding out the truth. Some of you may call this obsession, this addiction even, harmful because I am robbing my body (which is still recovering from illness) of much-needed sleep, and once again I will not argue with you, not because I cannot, but rather because I do not wish to. Your opinion is, of course, your opinion in the end. The only difference between your opinion and mine, in this case anyway, is that mine suits me better than yours does. If that ever changes, I shall make sure to let you know.