I’m addicted to Michelob lights and Winston 100’s and dancing. I tried to quit smoking, took up chewing Eclipse , and now I’m addicted to that. Smacking, chomping… the instant rush of flavor, and then, the repetitive, soothing, comfort of the gum tucked just so, nashing on it instead of grinding my teeth. Just cut a huge chunk of my thinning hair off, no amount of ice or peanut butter would free the wad of last night’s gum from my morning bed-head. I didn’t care. It was worth it. I fell asleep with mountain air swimming in my lungs, and I slept in peace.
I’m addicted to the beach. To the chafing sand, tiny Styrofoam balls of salt , crunching under my feet, clinging to my skin, falling from my hair. To the tired broken shells….washed up finally, from fatigue or fate, waiting in the cheese line….praying to be found, scooped up into a plastic bucket, a pocket, an open palm…..and to finally rest in peace. To the rheumy tide. Tattled on in the Farmer’s Almanac. But not predictable. Don’t ever let her fool you.
I’m addicted to crayons and colored makers and pencils and ink. I’ve collected a thousand colors in as many shapes and still it is not enough. I’m sure I am missing opaque shades of the sky, the skin, the soul…….
I’m addicted to signs. Little nuances that point me in the right way….yellow butterflies, perfect songs, license tags that spell out my fate……and billboards that knock you down and drag you down the wrong road , kicking and screaming, and loving every moment of it…a sunshine charm found in the sand, red wine on sale, the car clock stuck on midnight, hurricanes….. I’m really, really good at twisting them into my own make believe meant-to-be’s….
And I'm addicted to laughter. Something I "cold-turkeyed" a long time ago. Gave up. Just like that. They were good years,I smiled, I nodded, I danced in line. But I didn't laugh. Didn't get the Sunday School Giggles that can't be tucked under your petticoat, the "Yes, Sir, Officer" "No, I was just sneezing, looking for my registration" hiccups...I just smiled....lived...settled. And then I fell out of a hammock, on the perfect day, and started laughing again. And it was perfect. A helium high. Cheap thrills for the soul. A little rock and roll. And damn, I love rock and roll....
I’m addicted to peace and love. And understand I might die before I see them through. But I believe, and for that….
I have passion….
“They have support groups for people like us” he said; stubbing his cigarette into the dirty ashtray,
and clinking .....