The first step is admitting you have a problem. Like I haven’t done that enough, I do it every single day with all 18 of my other addictions. Well, dammit, I am there. I ADMIT I AM ADDICTED. To this motherloving Candy Crush Saga nonsense!
I don’t know who to credit for this photo as it’s been all over the interwebs lately. But damn, it’s good.
It’s the game in all your Facebook newsfeeds where all your friends are giving lives and taking lives and combining 7 different sets of candies and on level 164 and I’m over here all like, “hey, I’m on level 38, guys! look at me!”
You get annoyed and angry seeing all the nonsense that comes up in your feed but then one day you have a moment of weakness and think, ok, I guess I’ll just try it and see what that person’s problem is going on and on about this stupid game. Next thing you know, you’re fired from your job and your babies are dirty and hungry and you are sitting there holding your phone watching the timer tick down to the moment you get one more pathetic life thrown your way. Or so I hear.
Ahem.
The thing with addiction is you have to suffer consequences before you will change, otherwise, why the hell would you change if you’re getting away with terrible behavior? I haven’t had any consequences yet, besides frustration, so I obliviously play as I sink further and further into the Chocolate Mountains that somehow look like poopy, but then again, I am a twin mom and much of what I see looks like poopy.
It is infuriating. It is demeaning. It makes me so flipping angry. It mocks me at every turn for all the time and energy I put into it. But here’s the thing. At night, when the babies have gone to sleep and Dear Sweet Dumpster Husband is watching the Cubs game, as he does every damn night even though they break his heart, I START PLAYING. I play it zone out for a while. And it works. It’s kind of similar to being a Cubs fan in that you tune in every single day hoping for the best, thinking, we can really do something here, and then, CRUSH.
Dear Sweet Dumpster Husband asks me, “did you clear all the jellies?” then I hurl a bunch of expletives back in his direction after failing the same level for the 836th time in two weeks.
And this dude –
I want to punch him in his stupid long mustachioed monocled bobbing face.
I am a smart, capable woman. I should be able to conquer this stupid, insipid, sickly sweet, tempting game. Not even going to mention that my candy intake has doubled since starting this time suck. Thank gods they have limited lives at a time that forces me to put it down. I mean, I don’t put down my iPhone as that’s where my Kindle app is, but I READ A DAMN BOOK. You feel me? I am lazy and my brain needs to be challenged. I need to be filled up with good stuff and challenging stuff and do different kinds of activities for my brain and not just fixate on ONE DAMN THING ALL THE TIME.
M O D E R A T I O N. It’s that loaded word that we addicts have no grasp of. So far, I’m limiting myself to playing only at night when babies are sleeping and nothing big is happening AND on the train sometimes. No babies are being harmed or neglected from my playing. YET. Ah, you laugh, but I have problems, people. I can let shit get out of control if not monitored closely. So yeah, I admit I have a problem, but I’ve not suffered enough or had consequences enough to cause me to change. So I go back in for more abuse. BUT I LOVE IT.
SCREW YOU CANDY CRUSH. Screw. You.
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Too Sober For This 