I'm A Bad Addict

I recently wrote an essay on addiction. It ended up being more somber and science-y than intended, because I sometimes take myself quite seriously when writing for someone else. The gist of it, if you're not one of the few dozen people who read it, is that there is a difference between bad habits and true addictions. I am, it turns out, a failure as an addict, because rarely have I indulged in substance abuse and experienced physical dependence at the same time. I remain ambivalent about this.

So I give you a list of bad habits to which I have mistakenly considered myself addicted over the years. In no particular order of chronology, severity, or significance:

• Diet Coke (my precious)
• cigarettes (I'm gross. Whatever.)
• lip balm (Is this bad?)
• Afrin (yes, the nose spray)
• alcohol (No comment.)
• Bejeweled 3
• validation (Everyone needs this, right?)
• Vicodin (cold turkey, bitches)
• gossip (deliciously naughty)
• caffeine (I'm okay with this one.)
• clonazepam (and this one...)
• oversharing (oops)
• X-Files reruns (I want to believe.)
• toxic relationships (so over that shit)
• spicy cheese grits (mmm...)
• procrastination (It's happening right now.)
• the internet (See above.)

I'm still working on ditching many of these. Not surprisingly, they're the ones that have been with me the longest.

On a positive note, I have some good habits to balance my failed addictions:

• flossing (daily)
• admitting I'm wrong (also daily)
• napping (ditto)

Huh.

Why are bad habits easier to slip into than good ones? Why don't I crave raw fruits and vegetables instead of carbs drowned in melted cheese? Why isn't exercise as tempting as, you know, not exercising?

I need adult supervision, someone following me around asking, "Does that seem like a good idea, Laurel, or a really, really bad idea?" But apparently I'm the grown up around here. I don't know how this happened.

I'm going to take a nap.

Poorly Handled Conversations With My Daughter

1.

"Mommy, do I look sexy?" She assumes a hip-thrust, arms akimbo pose.

"What?"

"Am I sexy?"

"Do you know what sexy means?"

"I don't know. Like, pretty?"

"Sort of. Do you know what sex is?"

"No."

Awkward silence.

"Then don't worry about it. You're eight. Eight-year-old girls should not look sexy."

She makes a huffing noise and walks away.

2.

"I saw a word on the bathroom wall at school."

"What was it?"

She hesitates. "I don't want to tell you."

"You tell me all the other words you see."

"It was F-A-" She starts to say "G."

"Okay! I get it!"

"Is that a swear word?"

"That's worse than a swear word. 'Bitch' is a swear word. That's a hate word."

"Hate is an ugly word." (She parrots me.)

"Yes, and hate words are worse than ugly words or swear words. If I ever hear you use that word—"

"I won't! Jeez, Mom. I was just telling you I saw it."

She walks off and I call after her, "Thanks for telling me, honey!"

3.

"What's wrong, Mommy?"

"Nothing. I just have cramps." (I'm lying in bed, moaning.)

"What are cramps?"

"I get cramps when I have my period."

"What's a period?"

"Once a month, women bleed for a few days."

"From where?"

"From our privates." She looks horrified.

"I don't ever want to get a period."

"Someday you'll want to. Trust me."

"But I won't be able to go swimming!"

"Of course you will. You can use a tampon."

"What's a tampon?"

"It's like a... oh god, can we talk about this later? Like in a few years?"

"I am never going to get a period."

She runs from the room.