I have been brooding, which normally is not a good thing.

My callipygous glamour has been at work all day, and I seem to be experiencing an ineffable amount of leisure.

I have paid the bills, balanced ye olde checkbook, and now I sit here, indulging in a lil with ye olde typewriter.

To name thy addictions: drinking, smoking, caffeine in the form of Monsters, procrastination, and lastly, Facebook.

I lie. You are my last addiction. I would never consider Facebook as an addiction, yet now that mine account is no more, it seems like I have an abundance of free time, although I check my phone’s app constantly in a habitual response. It seems that I have been freed of some invisible procrastinative force.

So what was keeping me tied to Facebook? Many excuses such as “This is how I communicate with my family, friends, colleagues.” Yes, indeed I can definitely do that, yet if I count the times of day I am on the addictive site, and it is not relevant to family and friends or colleagues, it can add up to hours of non-productive, non-valuable time. How did we manage before Facebook?

We would be on Myspace or some other weird shit, but mainly it’s time that you can add up to something productive, such as writing or reading. I forgot to mention I do not watch TV either and do not engage in any type or form of novelleria.

If I take a look at all the subjects on the addiction app, I can add up only 2 or 3 relevant family or friend posts; the rest is crap about women posting half-naked pics to boost their self-esteem, and fishing for compliments, people trying to put a vague-ass comment to attempt to get WTF responses from other people who have nothing else to do. You have the people that just thrive on the quantifying allurement of comments and likes that bring a sad satisfaction to the socially impaired.

Having said that horrible generalization, I would like to include myself in the bunch of people who like to see other people react to weird facts or pictures found on or around the internet.

But that satisfaction is not real. My parents do not care, neither do my real friends. Only people stalking you on Facebook trying to get whatever small piece of attention they can from you because they cannot lift up the phone or car keys to visit you. Facebook will ruin your life if you let it, and the best response I have heard to that is ‘not me.” Well, guess what, motherfucker, yes you, because of the same reason that you do not recognize Facebook as an addiction, it will get you in trouble.

Enough on that, smoking is 80% mental and 30% physical addiction. Aside from the first 2 weeks of jitters and bad moods and the inability to take a shite, all you gotta do is have a strong motivator. Monsters kind of blend in, as the caffeine withdrawal is not really noticeable over the nicotine.

Which brings me to my last addiction. You. Although I agree that addictions are hazardous, this is the only one I will trade my health for. I can quit all my other ones in exchange for this one. I believe it will be worth the damage that will certainly ensue in the future.

That dulcet cynosure of an efflorescence woman, I have found.

Even my effervescent flatulence will not shoo her.

Indeed, out of all the addictions, this will be the one that will kill me, absorb my life, and it will all be worth it.

All it takes to make a change are four words from your loved one: “You are better than that.” And it will blow your mind because that was actually 5 words and because they echo in my head every day, every night, and every time I wonder what I should or should not be doing. Anyone who holds that much power over you should be called an “addiction”. An affable opulent addiction.

Now, if only Facebook would die, then maybe my addiction would be reciprocated.

` found near the typewritter circa 2013 `