How long must one engage in a habit before it becomes an addiction? Too often than not you are hooked before you even realize that what was once routine is now necessary. Its a shame there isnt some sort of standard timetable or applicable formula determining such a fate because then you would know when it is time to stop. For example, if you smoke 20 cigarettes a day for 5 weeks in a row you become 100 % officially addicted to nicotine. Cut the number you smoke or how often and you just may have cheated death. Development of the addiction may be slow and undetectable in the beginning, but once you hit that magic combination of product use times duration of abuse its over — you are toasted — roasted — stick-a-fork-in-me finished — you are hooked. I should know.

The physical dependencies like drug or alcohol addiction manifest themselves more visibly than the emotional ones although behavioral patterns can be quite similar . . lack of sleep, lying, cheating, stealing to get a fix, the urge to find a computer while on vacation or logging on more than twice a day.

The last time I was at the site I looked up some of the dates when some of you authors began posting stories. Amazingly to me, tales were being told before the show was even over for the season. Being a late bloomer, I was intrigued by this fact and wondered if those authors ever thought that WRITING stories can be just as addictive as READING them. It wouldnt surprise me one little bit to learn that those pen pushing peddlers of prolific erotica were in total denial about the addiction they have to telling a story. Whether its a short one-hit wonder filled with intensity and passion and a quick resolution or one of those multi-chapter, ***** filled, page turning, *****-hanging (hey, not my word but I think its one of the best ever!) novels, you guys just really, really WANT to WRITE as much as I really, really NEED to READ !! God, just admit it !!

I read the stories for a number of weeks before I thought that maybe I could write one. *****, I had a plot line, involving Bette and Tina of course, and a brain filled with ideas of how each would handle the breakup, to what lengths they would go to avoid and reunite, how far down that path of self-destruction each would travel before the self-realization. Yea, I was gonna be the next big thing . . The next Marie Brandt, the next Seahurst or tavy or Georgia or the btaddict. . Yep, that would be me . . Better than sliced bread or chasemenow or shakennotstirred or the Prozac princess or any one of those talented, gifted, amazing, amusing people. If I could list them all I would because I envied each and everyone of them. I wanted to be like them, I wanted to be them. I wanted to be that good.

But to be that good I would have to be good with words, be a storyteller who could weave and intricate tale of love, loss, deception, betrayal, all that necessary stuff. I would have to be able write believable dialogue . . I would have to be able to hook them, to keep them coming back for another chapter, make them look for my name on that list. And the ***** scenes – the love scenes – those would have to be so good I would make them wet on both ends of their bodies. And then it hit me – – I am liar, not a storyteller. I couldnt capture anyones attention long enough to finish a sentence let alone a whole page or chapter of a story. No, my obsession would be READING those unbelievably compelling tales. Good gawd I dont need the burden of yet another addiction of having to WRITE about my addiction. . . .

The bike ride home was uneventful with K and me choosing to listen to music on our respective walk-mans instead of chatting idly. Its not that we couldnt or wouldnt talk, it was just one of those times when we knew it wasnt necessary. K listens to her own mix of contemporary, alternative and hip hop I put my earplugs in and choose not to turn on the machine. I had the need to think.

That little episode at the intersection kinda scared me – K was right – I WAS acting a weird lately. SO it is time to end all this happy horseshit. I read somewhere that people fear they will fall into some big black hole by revealing a character flaw and that all of a sudden the people who have always loved them arent going to love them anymore. Thats garbage (I hope!). I need K in my life more than I need her in the dark about this ridiculous obsession. Fu*k the computer, fu*k those deliciously addictive stories, fu*ck those drug dealing authors. Lets just do it – -yea – -Im gonna ask K to move in with me. . . .



TBC